


Demons and Deeds

by Crowsister



Series: Daughters & Decisions [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-03-21 09:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3686838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowsister/pseuds/Crowsister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanalai was a slave. A literary one. This was her life, before the seed was finally planted. Eventually, the Sith Warrior Praxidice grows into her own strength. A tweaked novelization of the Sith Warrior storyline, set at the same time as Angels & Acts. On hiatus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kore

Hanalai had had a simple life as a slave. Simpler than most. She was not physically strong enough to be a heavy lifting slave, nor was she beautiful enough to be a sex slave. But her master, a minor crime lord who went by the name of Strike Quick, still had use for her.

He had her read. He disliked reading for long periods of time. Especially literature. He loved knowing the narrative, but didn't like staring at something long enough for someone to try shooting him. Or lengthier reports from his underlings. He taught her to read and write. He taught her that the outside world would destroy her if she left him. He sculpted himself a free secretary. She had begun this duty at ten years of age and by age twenty, Hanalai's literary prowess far outweighed Quick's.

"Hana," his voice slurred from the couch, "Sing the...th-the song. The _war_ song."

"The drum song, master? Republic or Imperial?"

"Pub...pubby-wuu _uuu_ ubby Republic, Hana darlin'."

She sighed, knowing her master had let his past as a Republic soldier haunt him out of his usual bravado. Enough to get himself drunk. Hanalai took a deep breath before starting to sing softly, "Roll out the drums of war. Roll up the cover of the killing floor. Roll out the drums of war and let's speak of things worth fighting for. Roll out the drums of war!"

"War!" her master echoed her, raising up a fist and holding it to the ceiling. She cut back her worry as her master's green eyes were glassy, staring at his fist.

She waited a moment for him to calm down. She started the marching drum beat against her thigh with a hand, keeping to the rhythm he had taught her. "Time comes when everything you ever thought you knew comes crashing down and flames rise up in front of you. Roll out the drums of war. Roll up the cover of the killing floor. Roll out the drums of war and let's speak of things worth fighting for. Roll out the drums of war!"

"Waaaaaaaaaaar! Bloody war," he interrupted her again, grumbling as he chucked his empty glass at the wall. "I _hate_ this war, Hana darlin'. Those who can be competent, do and are. Those who fuckin' can't...well, they appaaaaarently fuckin' _run_ the place. **Both** sides, s'why I'm neutral. S'why I went to the Hutts. Ain't no hope for change. None. Just gotta survive their bloody hiss-fits. Keep goin', Hana darlin'."

"Whatever you believe the necessary course to be, depends on who you trust to identify the enemy. Who beats the drums for war? Even before peace is lost, who are the profits for? And who are they who bear the cost when a nation takes the low road to war? Who gives the orders, orders to torture? Who gets to no bid contract the future? Who lies, then bombs, then calls it an error? Who makes a fortune from fighting terror? Who is the enemy trying to crush us? Who is the enemy of truth and justice? Who is the enemy of peace and freedom?" She sang all the questions of doubtful Republic soldiers, the ones who wrote the song a decade before she was even born. "Where are the Jedi, now when we need them? Why is a treaty not on the table? We better stop them while we are able."

"Can't stop this war. Jedi, Sith, their dark side light side shit. Can't have dark without light, no light without dark. Simple _fuckin'_ philosophy. Fuck, I keep interrupting, sorry Hana darlin'. Keep goin'."

"Roll out the drums of war. Whatever you believe the necessary course to be, depends on who you trust to identify the enemy. Who took this nation to war? Long before the peace was lost. Who are the profits for? And who are they who bear the cost and who lay down their lives? And who will live with the sacrifice of our best and brightest hopes, the flower of our youth, of freedom, and the truth?"

"Damn fuckin' right, who are they. They're the fuckin' leaders, that's what. Never be a leader, if ya get free after I die. Not a political leader. Fuck Politics. Capital P, like a big ole ugly penis."

"Your diction is as colorful as ever, master," she whispered. "Would you like me to turn down the lights and bring the bodyguard droids into the room?"

"Yeah. Get the hangover shit ready, I'm philosophical enough to out-philosophize a Jedi. Hell of a hangover's comin', Hana darlin'," Quick answered. He ran a hand through his messy blond dreadlocks. His weathered face, adorned in scarred brown skin, showed that he was distant and exhausted.

Hanalai stood from her seat across from his reclining couch, getting the cleaning droid to clean the glass shards from her master's thrown cup and then getting the bodyguard droids back to the room. She went to her modest office, organizing a few papers before contemplating sleeping herself.

Before she could, however, she would have to deal with whoever was trying to call her master.

She clicked the answer button of her master's holocommunicator, answering, "This is the office of Strike Quick, how can I help you?"

"Little _Kore_ ," the caller cooed, "It has been so long since I last saw you. You were fifteen at the time, yes?"

Ah, it was Quick's Sith friend. The two had a light business relationship that sometimes escalated into a physical one. Hanalai didn't know the Sith Lord's name. Quick always referred to the woman as the Sith or her Sithiness, even in person. She didn't seem to mind. If she did, Hanalai would have had a new master a long time ago. Sith don't tolerate annoyances, Quick taught her. Best behavior, no questions.

"I believe so, my lord," Hanalai replied, "Were you calling to make an appointment? I'm afraid Master Strike Quick isn't available at the moment."

"I'd love an appointment, little Kore," she replied, "It's a business appointment. I'm going to make an offer to buy an object from Strike Quick."

"Alright," Hanalai replied, typing at a computer, "He has an opening tomorrow evening, at seventeen hundred hours. Would that be good for you, my lord?"

"Perfectly so, little Kore," the Sith Lord purred, "Thank you for scheduling me into your master's busy schedule. How has he been treating you?"

"Master Quick is a fair owner, from what I have heard of other slave owners," Hanalai answered, "He does not whip me or use me for physical needs. He allows me to read and write where others do not. He protects me from the outside world, a world where I would die in."

"Oh, he's told you that you wouldn't make it without him?"

"Not that bluntly, but yes, he has."

The Sith Lord made tutting sounds. "Such an abusive tactic, convincing you that you would die out there," she replied. Hanalai was surprised with how...how motherly the Sith was sounding. Then again, Hanalai's only experience with mothers were those in holo dramas or in books.

"I don't think so, but you probably know more about the world than I do. I am a slave-scribe, hence inferior to your status," Hanalai replied, hoping she didn't sound disrespectful.

"The slave disagrees with me so openly? Interesting, interesting...I like your gall, little Kore. A few adjustments...yes, yes, I can see Praxidice Desponia in you now, little Kore. I will see you and your master tomorrow evening, at seventeen hundred hours." The Sith Lord cut off the call suddenly, leaving Hanalai confused. She slowly shrugged and went to arrange the hangover medicine in the kitchen for the next morning.

Then she slept. And dreamed of seeds being planted.


	2. Persephone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The planting of the seed and its growth.

 She woke up. Her dreams had been full of seeds growing into trees of fire. Not trees on fire, but trees of fire. Hanalai pondered if they had any meaning, rising from her bed and pulling her blonde hair into a bun. She pushed the dreams aside as she looked herself in the eye in the mirror.

"Most likely nothing," Hanalai murmured, her brown eyes watching herself pull a clumsy smile onto her face like a tarp over a hole. "Most likely nothing."

She rose, getting her clothes on. Not her typical clothes, the drab grey ones, but what her master called her show clothes. Rich red shirt, bantha leather vest and pants, and her leather knee boots. The vest and the boots concealed vibroknives, emergency weapons. She would buy time if someone tried to attack her master here. For without her master, she was no one. He was worth more than she ever would be worth.

Hanalai walked out of her room, knowing she was up hours before her master would be. She got the domestic droid moving to make her master's extravagant breakfast while she ate from the Imperial rations that one of her master's raids had procured. Her master's organization worked at hit and run operations, moving quickly to get shipments and then bring them back. The rations were somewhat bland, especially when compared to the smells she could smell from the droid's cooking, but it was what she had and thus couldn't complain. She finished in time to begin preparing for the first appointment of the day, one with the pirate Nok Drayen. It was something she could handle on her own, not like the bartering her master and the Sith Lord were going to do later in the evening. The infamous pirate needed a shipment of rare blaster pistols and her master had set the price lower than most were willing to go.

The pirate walked in several hours later, during the afternoon, a practiced walk where he favored his left over his right. Possibly an exaggerated favoring to throw people off. He had a little Twi'lek girl with him, blue skin and endless enthusiasm. Hanalai had met the girl before, even was employed by her master to watch over the girl if he had to barter with the pirate. Vette was her name.

"Greetings, Master Nok Drayen. Good morning, Vette. I hope you had no difficulties getting here," she replied, getting out some candy for Vette and setting it out, "Your shipment is in the back. Do you want me to watch Vette as you look over the contents to see if they are to your liking?"

"That would be appreciated, little Hana. Be good Vette."

"I'm always good, Nokky!"

"I have heard otherwise from others, Vette. Be good." With that, the pirate walked out. Vette scrambled around my desk, her hand snatching the candy Hanalai had left out for her and quickly removing the wrapper.

"Not my fault his lieutenants can't tell Twi'leks apart," Vette grumbled, taking a bite out of the sweet candy, "How have you been, Hana?"

"I've been faring well, Vette. I imagine your life is much more eventful than my own. I sit at a desk and attend to my boss's office all day. You live upon the ship of one of the most infamous pirates in the galaxy. Do you have any new stories for me?"

And that is how Hanalai was swept into an enthusiastic story of pirating and adventures. Hanalai had no doubt that the eleven year old girl was exaggerating parts of the story, particularly the parts she was in. But it kept her busy and happy. Besides, Vette was a rather entertaining storyteller in her enthusiasm.

A man burst into the door during a scene in the story where Vette was riding a cybernetic akk dog into battle and scooped Vette up midsentence. His large hand went over the little girl's mouth as Hanalai's went for one of her vibroknives. Vette had a gun to her head.

"Give me all your money, bitch, 'fore I save this Twi'lek from a metal bikini," he slurred, obviously drunk.

"Sir, what establishment do you think you are in?"

"Doesn't matter. Give me the money now or I kill the girl. Three, two-"

Hanalai pounced immediately, knocking Vette from the man's grip. She stabbed wildly, ignoring the shots in her thigh and in one of her eyes. She glowed red, furious. He had been going to hurt Vette, an innocent girl, for credits. Credits! The loss of life for credits! Vette could make her forget she was a slave, make Hanalai believe the lie that she was just Mr. Quick Strike's secretary, make Hanalai believe she was strong. And she was strong in her anger.

She eventually passed out as she heard her Master's voice yelling...something. She couldn't make it out, slowly falling on top of a bloody corpse. She reached out for Vette, smiling softly, "Be...safe."

Then Hanalai died.

* * *

"Wake up, little Kore," a familiar voice cooed, "I've given the seed nourishment. I've planted it into a beautiful pot and gave it time to grow. It's time to become Persephone, little Kore."

She awoke, groaning as she opened her eyes. She sat up slowly, head pounding. She looked to the source of the voice. The Sith Lord stood besides the bed that she was apparently laying in. The Sith Lord wore long and elegant robes with flower motifs, black and green. There was a motherly smile across the Sith Lord's green painted lips.

"Ah, there's my daughter Persephone. How are you feeling, little one?"

"...I am unsure how to answer that, my lord," she answered slowly. "I...I thought I died."

"Close to it, but who better to save a dying seed than Ceres? My name is Ceres, I don't think that ruffian Strike Quick ever mentioned it in your presence. It amused me how he hid his fear with nicknames," the Sith Lord replied. "Come. There's much to be done in order for you to grow as Persephone before blossoming into Praxidice Desponia. My rightful heir."

She slowly moved out of the bed, numbly letting the Sith Lord lead her by the hand. "I don't understand, my lord."

"Call me mother. You see, Persephone, I am infertile. I cannot have children who would survive in the Empire. I used to revel in this fact in my youth, but now...now I am growing to the age where I am most likely to die. You see, I am not what I appear."

The hand holding hers swiftly changed. From a human hand with tan skin, a Cathar's furry hand appeared to be holding hers. She blinked, removing her hand and looking up at the Sith Lord's revealed face. A Cathar with tan fur and wild stripes, scars like painted lightning. Bright, haunting yellow eyes.

"The Empire is incredibly racist, Persephone. It has taken me many years to get a holo-disguise as elaborate as mine. The face of Darth Ceres is human. Her claws are Cathar. An elaborate ploy to ensure that my enemies run in circles, looking for Darth Ceres's Cathar assassin. If I were to have children, I believe it to be likely that they will not be welcomed into the Empire if they happen to not be Force sensitive," the Sith Lord explained, her scars moving across her face. "And thus, I find the need to adopt to be rather important. My estates need to go to someone and I would rather an heir than for my enemies to squabble over them."

"...why me, my lord?" she asked, "I'm...I'm just a slave."

"As was I, Persephone. We may not be biologically similar, but we share spiritual similarities. I was a slave, like you, who believed I was not worth anything. But then it was discovered that I was Force sensitive. I was shipped to the Sith Academy, drastically under-prepared and having to rely on my own need to survive to live."

"My lord, I am not Force sensitive." She let Darth Ceres take her hand again, the disguise springing back into action as the Darth led her out of the room and into a long hallway. She could recognize the fields of Naboo outside of the window. She was slightly mesmerized by the sight, taken by the beauty of it.

    "Oh, but you are. My man coaxed out the flames of anger out of you, by attacking that little Twi'lek girl," Darth Ceres chuckled. "Such a fiery defender, Persephone. I have noticed such on several occasions. I apologize for the deception, the girl was never going to be hurt. Andronikos was on strict orders not to. Over the next few years, I will be teaching you the ways of the Sith. You will be my secret until you grow into Praxidice. I will teach you politics, the ways of the Sith, combat, among the many things you will need to keep the lie that you are my daughter. You will live on in my legacy when I die, thus making me immortal. What say you to that?"

"...I suppose we should begin immediately, my lord," she answered.

"Good," Darth Ceres cooed, "Good." The Sith Lord continued to lead her down the hallway, explaining, "Your name, for now, is Persephone. When you are ready, you will take the name Praxidice. And do call me mother."

"Where do these names come from, my...mother," Persephone asked.

"From an Nabooan story, an ancient one. We are on Naboo now, as I have property in this city, Keren. Kore, the maiden, the seed. Persephone, the abducted maiden who comes into her own domain. Praxidice, the exacter of justice and queen," she explained, "Of course, it was never Ceres who abducted Kore, it was Aidones, but details, details. I was not going to change my name to keep to the exact details of the story. I enjoy the way the r rolls in Ceres too much to change it. Now, first thing, daughter, is for you to become used to your face." Darth Ceres opened a door to a brightly lit room full of mirrors. "Look at who you are now, Persephone. You have shed off the shell of Hanalai, the slave, and Kore, the maiden. You now wear the face of Persephone and Praxidice."

Persephone stepped into the room, Darth Ceres following. The woman that Darth Ceres walked with was not the one that Persephone was expecting to see. Her skin was paler than it had been. Her pupils a strange, bright, and metallic silver that looked absolutely white from certain angles. Her hair was black where it had been blonde before. She had just pulled it up into a bun this morning and now it was...this. Her face was more angular, subtly mimicking the harsh angles of Darth Ceres's disguise's face. The two of them looked like flesh and blood, truly and biologically related.

"How...how? Is this another holo-disguise?" Persephone asked, touching her face and confirming it to be really her own. "Or did you alter my appearance?"

"While you were resting from your wounds on Nar Shadda, I had the work done. I kept you sleeping, daughter, so you would feel no pain. A mercy, as I could have kept you awake. The eyes are cybernetic, incredibly advanced. They are connected to another part of your brain that will store footage, increase your memory so you will be able to remember false words and strange actions in unrivaled detail. I will teach you how to use the Force to access these memories during your time here. Your hair will now grow black until you grow old enough to start growing grey," Darth Ceres explained, "A holo-disguise like mine would be too obvious in the Sith Academy. I did not have mine then either. You will survive."

"This is...so much to absorb, I apolo-"

"Don't. Do not apologize for being swept up into a larger and grander life and needing time to understand," Ceres snapped, lightly touching her face, "I will be with you. Every. Step. Of. The. Way."

* * *

"Persephone, dear one, how are your studies going?" Darth Ceres asked her across the long table, smiling. It had been two years since Persephone was introduced to this new life. And, as Darth Ceres had predicted, Persephone had grown.

Persephone answered, keeping her voice loud enough for her mother to hear, "They are going well. Xalek says that I should pursue dual wielding, as that were my natural talent lies. Khem Val seems to agree, when that Zash woman stops interrupting him. She keeps insisting that I follow you in your double-sided lightsaber."

"Bah, do not listen to her, she wants you to follow in my footsteps so she can attempt to possess your body as she tried to do mine. She is the reason I decided to have an heir rather than search for immortality, such a silly idea. What is grown must return to the soil. How are your history lessons going? Oh, and lyric writing coming along?"

"Talos is an excellent teacher for history, though he is slightly disappointed I care more for military battles than all history. Ashara thinks my lyrics are similar in style to many Alderaanian poets, especially modern ones. My excursions with Andronikos have been excellent in testing my abilities in the Force, we have performed several hit and run attacks upon Organa outposts."

"And I see your tusk cat has survived each one. Excellent to know that the breeder was not indeed lying about its breeding," Ceres mused, slicing open her meal and taking a bite. Persephone was unsure what kind of meat was being served, but knew better than to question. She could only be certain that it was not meat from a sentient creature, as her mother had been clear that sentience tends to ruin the taste of the meat.

Persephone responded, "Tartarus is an excellent steed and companion. I will miss him when I leave to the Academy."

"I will send him and Cerberus to you once you have secured a place as a Sith Lord's apprentice."

"Why can't you be my master, mother?"

"It never ends well. I have my reasons, little cub. You will understand them, in time. Besides, learning under someone else would be a good experience for you in dealing with Sith politics. I may not kill you, but another Darth might see your power and try to kill you. Please see that that Darth does not succeed, t'would be a waste to see you cut down."

That was Ceres's way of saying that she cared. Persephone had learned this last month, from Talos. Her mother and Talos always did an amusing dance about each other, acting as if they were not in love with the other. Persephone could only hope that she did not have to undergo such a dance.

"I will certainly do my best, mother," she replied, "T'would be unfortunate to waste your precious resources in such a manner. My goal is to survive and thrive."

"Good. Then my lectures have not been a waste."

"They never were."

* * *

Eight more years went by and Persephone grew tanner and experienced. Ceres had grown into a rather interesting mother figure for her. Now, they stood across from each other in full battle regalia.

"Today is the day we will see if you are ready to blossom into Praxidice," she replied, lighting her lightsaber. The red light shimmered against the gold in her robes, making her look a little bloody already.

Persephone lit her own lightsabers, one a gradient of white-purple-blue and the other a gradient of orange-red. Each in a crafted silver handle, sturdy and elegant in their designs of vines and prowling tusk cats. "It is today, indeed."

Ceres faded into nothing, no doubt sneaking about. Persephone made sure to keep her back turning, slipping into the Juyo form. Moving about like her pet vornskr, Cerberus, she prowled. She blocked an attempt from her mother, holding the lightsaber to block the stab. She pushed her mother away, both of them circling each other. She sprung, using the Force to fuel her jump. Her mother blocked one saber, but was unable to stop the other from being pressed against her neck.

"Good, good...decisive, quick, deadly," Ceres muttered as Persephone backed off, "You have grown. No longer are you Hanalai, the Kore. You have grown during your phase as Persephone. Kneel, Persephone."

Persephone kneeled, looking up. She was not expecting her mother to take a needle out, growling quietly as Ceres sewed two stitches into her lips.

"Now, the final test. Will you let me keep you silent forever? Will you let others silence you as you are now?" Ceres asked, "Or will you scream in rage at the thought?"

Persephone snarled, shrieking furiously as she ripped the stitches from her lips and leaving two gaping gashes in her lips, "NEVER WILL I BE SILENCED!"

Darth Ceres grinned wildly, moving her hands and Force lightning sprung from her fingers. Persephone continued to scream as the gashes on her lips healed together to leave two scars across her lips.

"Rise, Praxidice! Rise, exacter of the Empire's justice!" Ceres cawed, hitting her daughter with more lightning. "Rise, heir of Desponia!"

Praxidice slowly stood in the rain of lightning, lighting her lightsabers and screaming into the sky. She sheathed them as the lightning stopped, attaching them to her belt.

Hanalai had had a simple life as a slave. Simpler than most. And then, she died. Praxidice was planning to have a much more fulfilling life than Hanalai could have ever dreamed of.


	3. Setting Foot in the Styx: Korriban Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Praxidice puts her lessons to good use.

Korriban, the love letter to strength through passion. Tombs and dust scattered its surface with the only building of modern architecture being that of the Sith Academy itself. Praxidice waited for the shuttle to land, her hand drifting over the hilt of the vibroblade on her back. Another deception, that she would have to earn her lightsabers all over again. That she had never used a lightsaber in her life.

That she was just as weak as the other acolytes.

Such a deception should come off as truth, her mother had explained, especially to those who scoffed at the idea of a woman being on the battlefield. It was rare and few between, but the outspoken minority of sexists gave her mother the impression that all think similar things somewhere in their minds.

Now that Praxidice had earned her name, her mother had given her the choice between using the deception and displaying her power proudly. Praxidice decided to catch any rivals by surprise, using the deception. Her mother, ever the stealthy assassin, approved of her choice.

The shuttle landed and Praxidice made her way out, observing her surroundings for a brief moment as she acclimated to the harsh sun. She was glad, for that moment, that she swapped out the black leathers of her chosen battle regalia for the Sith acolyte cloth armor. They were lighter in color, grey rather than black, and thinner. Good for Korriban's sun.

She was led inside by the shuttle guards, bowing her head to her mother's man inside the Academy. Overseer Tremel had been one of her mother's apprentices a long time ago before he moved on to working for the Sith Academy. His leathery face was the product of Korriban's sun and wind.

“At last you arrive. Good, good,” Overseer Tremel greeted, watching Praxidice as she walked into the building. The guards backed off, going back to the shuttle. “There is much to do and every moment is critical. I’m Overseer Tremel, as you know. For decades since I left your mother’s charge, I have administered the trials to prove who is and isn’t worthy to join the Sith Order. The trials are a chance to weed out the weak. Those who face them either survive and become Sith, or die.”

“I want to do well. Becoming Sith is in my blood,” she answered quietly, hands itching for her old lightsaber hilts.

The overseer replied, “It wasn’t destiny that brought you here. Yes, you are here and ahead of schedule because of me. I expect you to obey.”

Ah, the grandstanding. Mother did warn her about Overseer Tremel’s habit of grandstanding. Fluffing up his metaphorical feathers to appear more threatening, but in the end an Endorian chicken is still an Endorian chicken. Even with the feathers fluffed up.

“You face your trials, you serve me, and I will make you the most powerful acolyte here,” Tremel finished, crossing his arms behind his back.

“Sounds like a plan,” Praxidice uttered, waiting for him to just stop. Talking. Just stop. She knew what she was going to be doing, just give her the target to stab/slash/maul. Peaceful options could wait until after she was out of the Academy and a true Sith.

“There is not much time. The trials themselves are difficult enough, but they are not the greatest threat you will face.” No, that would be her rivals. Her rivals were sentient and the trials were not, hence the rivals were near unpredictable variables that changed the constants within the trials themselves. Thus, it was simple to see that the rivals were more dangerous than the trials. She was not an empty headed rich idiot and she wanted to hurt him for suggesting such.

“There’s an acolyte here named Vemrin-”

“His name is incredibly close to being named Vermin, Overseer Tremel,” Praxidice cut in, letting a smile cross her face, “You say I will only have one true threat to a position to being a Sith Lord’s apprentice?”

“Specifically one true threat to a position as Darth Baras’s apprentice. He is one of the most influential Sith Lords of our time and thus this apprenticehood could bring you and your mother’s legacy great glory,” the overseer explained, his nose twitching in irritation. Good, now they were both irritated. A matching pair. “Vemrin will try to kill you. We must prepare you.”

“Let him try. I will destroy him,” Praxidice muttered, her hand lazily grazing the hilt of her flimsy vibrosword.

“With my guidance, someday you will destroy all your enemies,” Tremel replied before motioning to her vibrosword. “That practice sword you’ve arrived with is insufficient -- the blade of lesser acolytes. You need a dominating weapon. In the tomb of Ajunta Pall, there’s an old armory. A strong Sith warblade awaits you there. The tomb is thick with-”

“K’lor’slugs. My mother told me the stories,” Praxidice interrupted again. “I will have something common with the beasts. Savage and deadly. Where is the rendezvous point for after I retrieve the warblade?”

“Within the Sith Academy, my chambers,” he answered. “Go now.”

She exited the building, burning with a new purpose. Praxidice sliced down the k'lor'slugs with her fellow acolytes, letting the blood water the sand. She made her way through the tomb, cutting down tomb raiders on the way and recovering relics along with the blade Overseer Tremel had told her about. A silver blade, little better than a vibrosword, that glowed red when she willed it to with her rage. It was decent for cutting k’lor’slugs, but she knew it would not stand to a real battle with a lightsaber of any caliber.

Turning in the lost relics to a major outside of the Academy, Praxidice made her way into the institution with her head held high and her blade bloodied.

She watched as a Twi'lek with familiar blue skin was dragged in, unable to see their face due to how it was hanging. Must have knocked them out. She would worry about it later, hoping that the fates were being kind and not bringing Vette into her new life.

After a conversation with a Sith pureblood that reminded her of her mother, Praxidice was finally past the threshold.

If the possibility of Vette being in this ruthless world wasn't enough to cause her anxiety, stepping into the Sith Academy added onto it. For the first time, she felt the reality of her new life. She was Sith. Really Sith and not in the practice realm her mother set up. She just had to survive this and she would be on the path of her new destiny.

Hanalai within her shivered. Praxidice kept on a brave face as she fought back her anxiety, locating Tremel's chambers with some difficulty. Sith did not ask for help from other Sith. It was weakness, her mother had made clear. If you were going to ask for help from any Sith, just ask your mother. Mother was the only Sith you could trust with weakness.

“Hey there, acolyte,” called a male voice, “Hold on a moment. Let me get a look at you.”

Standing in the cornered hallway, the hallway she had determined to be right outside of Overseer Tremel’s door, were two men. Both acolytes, by the look of their training clothes and their warblades. Praxidice longed for a proper lightsaber in that moment, for the shorter one with the rough military styled haircut was practically radiating power in the Force. Not as strong as her mother, not even as strong as Overseer Tremel, but Praxidice could see that this man could match her in power.

“Why would you like a look at me, fellow acolyte?” she asked, keeping her tone polite and clipped.

The powerful one chuckled, “Because you’re Overseer Tremel’s secret weapon. Everybody knows about you. Impressive, to be sure. Afraid the old man waited too long to make his move though. I’m Vemrin, and unlike you I’ve fought and bled for everything I have. I demand respect.”

“And I will give it,” Praxidice said, “Quite honestly, if it were up to me, you would be Darth Baras’s apprentice. Yet, it seems we are to enter into a classic dance. Tell me, Vemrin, do you oppose to your dance partners stepping on your feet? I might accidentally step on your heart, so I am gauging how far I can let my accidents go.”

The two acolytes watched each other, each circling around the other like two Alderaanian nobles in a dance. Or like two hungry akk dogs in a cage. It was hard to tell the difference.

“Believe it or not,” Vemrin snarled softly, “I’m trying to keep you from getting killed.”

“Marvelous, a matching pair. For that is what I am trying to do for you,” Praxidice replied, giving a coy smile, “How charming for you to think that I need saving. How...sexist.”

“All I’m saying is that if Overseer Tremel had made his move a year ago, when I first arrived,” Vemrin explained, halting their circling. “You might have had a chance then. But now -- too little, too late.”

“This is ridiculous, Vemrin,” the long silent partner whined. “Let’s just kill her and hide the body.”

“We’re not on Balmorra anymore, Dolgis,” Vemrin scolded his partner, “There are rules. Traditions. We’ll leave the shortcuts to Overseer Tremel and his last pathetic hope here.”

“I enjoyed our conversation too, Vemrin. I wish you luck in your remaining trials,” Praxidice replied, still treating him with respect even in the face of an insult. Pathetic. She would show him pathetic.

Vemrin responded peacefully, “You have no idea the enemy you are making. Coming, Dolgis?”

“Be right there, Vemrin,” Dolgis answered. Vemrin nodded curtly, passing Praxidice to stalk out into the main Academy room. Praxidice watched Dolgis, keeping her ears trained on the sound of Vemrin’s footsteps. Dolgis snarled, “Listen to me, you useless priss. Acolytes aren’t allowed to murder one another. But accidents happen. It isn’t murder without witnesses. No more warnings. Vemrin’s the alpha monster around here. You go after Vemrin, you die.”

“Thank you, Dolgis, for reiterating what I already knew. I will keep a small plate of gold, circular and small like your brain, engraved with your wonderful words of advice,” Praxidice replied, “Please move aside. I have been delayed from my appointment with my overseer as it is. I am reaching into the territory of being unfashionably late rather than fashionably so. Scoot, little akk doggie. Scoot.”

With a wave of her hand, she used the Force to catapult Dolgis over her and into the hall behind her. She delighted in his snarling and his retreating footsteps.

She didn’t worry about tipping her hand with that display. Many of the acolytes of her and Vemrin’s level were adept in using the Force to catapult themselves to the enemy. It wasn’t an advanced technique to change the person being catapulted, but most warriors didn’t care to think too deeply in their Force abilities. They cared more for blade work and seeding the sand with blood. Mother had been clear that Praxidice was not to take the approach of a senseless killing machine.

She was to be balanced. Life and death. To preserve life when strategically necessary and to clip the weeds.

Praxidice moved through the hallway, stepping in on a conversation between her overseer and another acolyte. Tremel seemed eager to stop the conversation, looking to her and cutting the acolyte mid-sentence, “Good, you’ve returned. You seem to be in one piece. Tell me, how do you like your new blade?”

“It is fine for killing k’lor’slugs, but I long for a proper Sith’s blade,” she answered, running her hand along the blade’s handle before looking at the other acolyte.

“What are you doing, Father?” the acolyte asked in frustration, “I only just got my warblade and I’ve been here for six months.”

“I have my reasons, Eskella.”

Praxidice, given what context she knew, translated that out to “Eskella, my old master blackmailed me and persuaded me to do this.”

She listened to Tremel continue, “And you will not breathe a word of this to anyone. Do you hear?”

“Yes,” Eskella said without any pause. She quickly added with a practiced bow, “Yes Father.” Praxidice could practically hear the capital F in father with the pronunciation. It was like how she said Mother.

“Acolyte, this is my daughter, Eskella, my daughter,” Tremel replied, “She’s one of the advanced students here. On her way to becoming Sith. If she minds herself.”

“I’ll keep quiet about your new charge, Father,” Eskella responded, most likely sensing the same quiet threat as Praxidice in the last sentence of her father’s words. “But I won’t be there if whatever you’re planning blows up in your face.”

With that statement, the woman turned and left. Tremel folded his hands behind his back, stating, “Don’t mind her. She’s just sore that I’m keeping secrets. She growls, but she’s loyal.”

Praxidice nodded, watching Eskella finally exit the door out of the corner of her eye.

Tremel brought her attention back to him by inquiring, “Now, I thought I heard Vemrin’s voice in the adjacent chamber before you arrived. Did he make his move so soon?”

“He was sizing up the competition, nothing beyond that,” Praxidice answered.

Tremel continued to talk, Praxidice not paying much attention to his precise words but the meaning she was gleaming from them. Tremel was the exact kind of racist Sith that inspired her mother to adopt in the first place. He prattled about Vemrin being of bad blood. "Mixed blood" was his term for it. 

And yet Praxidice couldn’t find herself caring less. Vemrin was powerful, in his own right. While she was a tree of fire, growing and sustaining her rage in a calculated fashion, Praxidice found herself comparing Vemrin to a hunting hound. Raring for a kill, but going about it in a well trained manner. He had mentioned Balmorra - had he been military before his Force abilities showed themselves? That explained how he respected rules. She could respect a man who respected rules and traditions.

“You must proceed with your next trial immediately,” Tremel cut off her thoughts. “I want you to interrogate three prisoners in the Academy jails and decide their fates. Consider each criminal’s story carefully. The decisions you make will be scrutinized, so let your passions guide your judgements.”

“I understand, overseer,” Praxidice replied, bowing her head slightly.

Tremel ordered, “Go to the Academy prisons. Speak to Jailer Knash and return to me after you’ve passed judgement on the prisoners.”

She left Tremel's chambers, moving across the hallways of the Sith Academy with caution, awaiting an attack.

Vemrin had made himself clear - she was a threat to him and thus he would seek to cut her down. It wasn't anything personal, just business. She respected him for that and found it sad that this was the way it was. Infighting, so much infighting. Perhaps she could arrange a few things. Regardless of Vemrin's heritage, if he was as powerful in the Force as she had felt, he could be made into a good weapon against the Republic. She'd have to discuss this with her mother.

For now, she made her way into the Sith Academy Jail Cells. Her first trial awaited.


	4. A Shade in the Styx: Korriban Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Praxidice finds her old friend and abuses her cover of being a spoiled brat.

"One more chirp from you, little bird, and you'll regret it." Male voice, rough. Annoyed, bristling like a dog. A sort of furry voice, speaks from the throat rather than the diaphragm.

A relaxed female voice responded back, "Chirp, chirp, chirp." 

Praxidice immediately started to pick apart that voice, finding it to be familiar. Why did that voice summon images of cybernetic akk dogs being ridden like rodeo thranta? She stayed outside the door, letting the shadows hide her a bit as she listened.

She heard someone shift their position and a click. She knew that click.

The soft click of a slave collar being set to shock. She felt rage burn inside her, but she remembered. She couldn't jump on everyone for mistreatment of slaves. She had to check if it was a Sith first. If it was, she'd have to be good. If not...if not, she could cause an embarrassing stain on that person's underthings. That would be the least she would do.

She sprung out of her hiding spot as she heard the female voice grunt and yelp, letting her rage show in the glowing of her eyes.

A man not in Sith robes. No light saber or vibrosword or warblade. Just a pistol at his belt. Bald, bearded. Orange hair, greasy as a french fry from Nar Shadda. The only officer here and thus, by Praxidice's assumptions, Head Jailer Knash.

"Excuse me, but is it common to treat a Sith lord's worker as a slave?" Praxidice replied, making the man jump and drop the remote.

"Pardon me, madam, b-but-"

"That Twi'lek is the servant of Darth Ceres," she snarled, stomping on the remote.

"She-she was found-"

"Doing the work of Darth Ceres! Tomb security." She ripped through the door of the Twi'lek's cell with her sheer rage, picking up the Twi'lek and holding her bridal style. "She was testing the security of the tombs, given the raiders in the tomb of Ajunta Pall! Did no one bloody get the memo?"

Praxidice turned to the man again, letting the Force show in the glow of her eyes. "We are starting my trial now."

"W-with the-"

"Yes, with Vette in my arms. Go on, go on, I do not have all day to dilly dally here," she ordered, carrying the Twi'lek. Praxidice had no doubt that her performance had shocked both the Twi'lek and the jailer. She was sure that the Twi'lek was Vette, the little Twi'lek from her past. If it wasn't Vette, Praxidice could live with saving a person from the life of being a Sith's slave.

"...for future reference, jerk," Vette said from the sanctuary of Praxidice's arms. "If you don't like my bird impression, just say so. I can do other animals, too. Dire-cat, frog-dog, Kowakin monkey-lizard, you name it."

"Vette, quiet please," Praxidice whispered softly, now absolutely certain this was Vette. The sassy Twi'lek girl who had once chewed her ear off with a story about how she saved the day by killing a man with a candlestick and sheer determination. She had to bite back a smile and a laugh.

The man cleared his throat, regaining some of his composure. "I'm Jailer Knash. I run these cells and the slave pits. I, ah...assume you're the acolyte that Tremel sent for the trial, right?"

"Yes," she said, giving him an affirming nod, "I am Acolyte Praxidice."

"He thinks highly of you," Knash replied, possibly offering some compliment to save his hide. It might have worked on some other acolytes, smoothing ruffled proud feathers, but Praxidice was not one for empty compliments.

"That's good to hear," she stated, "I want to do well."

"You should know this situation is highly unusual. Normally, an acolyte goes offworld for the interrogation. Overseer Tremel had these three shipped in for you," Knash explained, motioning to the three incredibly small jail cells to the right of Praxidice. She nodded, listening to Knash prattle. "He thinks you're the next coming of Exar Kun. But you ought to know, Tremel ain't the only one paying attention to you."

"No, I imagine my mother has some eyes and ears somewhere about this room. I can't imagine that Darth Baras doesn't as well," Praxidice replied. She set Vette down by the door. "Vette, wait for me here. We will discuss compensation pay and your next assignment with Darth Ceres."

"I getcha, ma'am. I am definitely not going to move," Vette replied.

Praxidice thanked the Force that Vette still had the sense to play along with her. Or was waiting for an opportunity to run to the hills and hatch a wild plan to escape involving smugglers, eyelashes, and sweet talk. It was hard to tell, what with the possible growth that Vette went through the last ten years and Praxidice no longer being Hanalai.

Praxidice turned back to the jail cells, nodding to Knash for him to continue as she prowled in front of the cells.

"Now, these three prisoners have been transferred here for your inspection. You gotta interrogate them as needed, and decide their fate," Knash replied. "The convicted are usually executed or given a trial by combat to see if they're worthy. Whatever you decide, you will be the one to carry out the sentence."

"Of course," Praxidice replied, "I will begin then."

"This one on the left-"

"You freaks aren't getting anything new out of me," the woman in the cell snapped. "Just do whatever you're going to do."

"I can be reasonable where the inquisitors are ruled by sadism," Praxidice replied, stopping in front of the woman's cell.

The woman snorted, running a hand through her short black hair as a bitter smile grew on her face, "I know every one of your inquisitors by name. That's not going to work with me. I know how this story ends."

"Impudent to the last. As I was sayin', she was sent to kill an Imperial spy in the Yavin system. Throughout her torture, she maintained that she was hired anonymously," Knash explained.

"Get it through your damn head--I had no idea he was Imperial, and I don't know who hired me," the woman snarled, fire flashing in her grey eyes.

"Interesting," Praxidice replied, "An assassin. Give me your name and your sales pitch, assassin. If I were to hire you, give me your reasons why."

"You should know, first, that I don't come cheap," she replied. "I work with poisons and sniper rifles. Usually one person target jobs. Get in, poison the bastard, get out. I've been going by Shaneeka for the last year or so."

"Sounds like the sound of a blade," Praxidice replied, holding back a chuckle. She found herself liking Shaneeka's attitude.

Shaneeka shrugged in response, quipping, "Or the reloading of a gun, I'm not picky. Couldn't pick up an obvious blade name or the Red Blade would be after me for intellectual property theft or something. And too many sex jokes can be made with gun names."

"What sort of poisons do you work with? Do you stick with poisons used in certain systems or are you not picky?"

"Depends on my pay."

"Are you loyal to one employer or are you easy to earn with credits?" Praxidice replied, turning her face to the corner of the room and keeping Shaneeka in the corner of her eyes.

"Honestly? Yeah, I can be swayed for an employer change with some credits, I know if I answer loyalty you'll stick me in the gut," she replied. "At least, that's what I'd do in your position."

"You have no ties to the Republic?"

"I'm not political. I work for whoever pays," Shaneeka replied, crossing her arms.

"The point is," Knash interrupted. "She doesn't deny the charge. So, now you must decide--execution or trial by combat. Which do you choose?"

"Neither, actually. She could prove useful. Send her to Imperial Intelligence," Praxidice replied. "One more resource for the Empire."

“I won’t work for free,” Shaneeka grumbled.

Praxidice went to smooth her ruffled feathers. “I’m sure Imperial Intelligence will have a suitable salary for your services,” she replied as she walked to the cage to the right. Praxidice ignored Knash’s muttering, choosing to focus on the next prisoner.

A bald man, cybernetics and scars showing like badges of honor in bands on his face. Wrinkled, aged. Praxidice could feel the Force in him, if she focused. It was so faint, it was barely a flicker. A drop in an ocean, so to speak.

“Please, I am fellow Sith-”

“I could sense as much, do not patronize me, old man,” Praxidice snapped, prowling in front of the cage.

“I am fellow Sith,” the man started up again. “Judge me with an open mind and grant me trial by combat. I beg of you.”

“If you wish to actually have a chance, I would recommend a fight with a young akk dog,” Praxidice answered. “I’m afraid a fight with me would not be a merciful action.”

“This pile of waste is Devotek. Once a valued Sith Champion,” Knash explained, “until he botched an important mission and caused a thousand Imperial deaths. Now look at him.”

“I served faithfully for twenty-four years,” Devotek responded calmly in a counter-point, “then one mistake and they threw me away.”

“I hate to break this to you, but that is indeed typical Sith politics,” Praxidice responded. “I don’t think many Sith have heard of the concept of recycling.”

“It does not matter. Now, I have been left here to rot. Please, let me feel the weight of a weapon once more,” Devotek requested.

“Giving you a weapon and then having you fight me is more of a death sentence than leaving you to rot. I will save my time and your life by leaving you in your cage,” she replied. “Next prisoner, Jailer Knash.”

She strode away, doing her best to ignore Devotek’s protests. Had she the backing of her mother behind her, she would have acquised and allowed the warrior a warrior’s death. Leaving him to rot was cruel. Some years of silence and being ignored until he finally croaked or until a Sith Lord got bored and requested a torture puppet. No, until Praxidice had power to back her honor, she would have to stow it away.

“Well, this last prisoner is a bit of a puzzle. He’s called Brehg, and he’s a jittery little wretch, suspected of supplying forged documents to Republic agents. Strangely enough, he maintains his innocence despite being severely tortured,” Knash replied, talking over Devotek’s continued cries for combat.

Praxidice looked over the Neimoidian, watching the man slowly rise from his sitting position. Something in the Force tugged at her from him and she focused on it as Brehg spoke.

“That’s because innocent I am! Believe me, you gotta--I had nothing to do with forging no papers. Set up, I was set up!” Bregh protested, gesturing with the manner of a businessman.

Praxidice asked, “So you are not a criminal then?”

“A-ah...I am but a humble smuggler.”

“So a criminal.”

“I am not guilty for this!”

Lie. A blatant lie that she would not have expected to sense with the Force. She did not have her mother’s talent with sensing such matters--she was much more adept with kinetic manipulation of the Force. Yet she could feel Brehg's lie through the force, slapping her in the face with his disrespect.

“What is your evidence? Your suspect?” she asked, closing her eyes and turning her back on him.

“I-”

“You have none,” Praxidice replied as she snapped her eyes open, lifting the man up by the throat with the Force and letting him choke a bit. She dropped him after a moment. “Send him back for more torture. Until he cracks.”

“Please, please,” Brehg begged, “I am innocent.”

“Shut up, you fidgety fool, the decision’s been made!” Knash replied, kicking at Brehg’s cell to stop him from reaching a hand from between the bars. “That’s that, acolyte. You’re an interesting one. I can see why people are keeping tabs on you. Head back to Overseer Tremel, see what he thinks of your choices.”

“I will after making sure my mother’s employee gets back to her care,” Praxidice replied. “Please let the Overseer know and give him my apologies for the short delay.”

Praxidice turned around, plucking up Vette again and ignoring her squawk. She carried Vette, who was uncharacteristically quiet. Perhaps this wasn't Vette. Perhaps she had made a mistake. She took Vette out into the Tomb of Ajunta Pall, finding a quiet corner free from k'lor'slugs.

"Your name is Vette, correct? You were a crew member of Nok Drayen?" Praxidice whispered, watching the nervous teenager pick at her shock collar and jacket. If it was Vette, she still had nervous fidgety fingers. That reassured her a bit.

"Uh...yeah, that's me," she replied. "Um...why do you care? And, I appreciate the rescue and everything, but um who are you?"

"I knew you ten years ago. I cannot reveal who exactly I am until I become truly Sith. For now, you may call me Praxidice, though I know you'll come up with a nickname eventually," she replied. "Please know that you are safe in my care. I am your only chance at freedom."

"Oh...okay. Great, I guess I can't argue with that. Me and my friend, the Sith. Nobody'll pick on me at school," Vette snipped. Praxidice let herself giggle a bit, giggling a bit more when Vette's eyes widened.

"S-sorry, sorry, that was a good line, I missed your lines and quips," she replied, giving Vette a grin. "Now, we have to call my mother. She might give you a hint as to who I am. You might recognize her."

Before Vette could answer, Praxidice pulled out her holocom and called her mother.

"Praxidice, what a surprise. I was just discussing your first trial with Overseer Tremel," Darth Ceres cooed, trailing a finger down her jaw. "And I see you found your Twi'lek again. Bravo at your performance, my little cub, I full-heartedly approve of keeping your weaknesses close."

"Mother, that wasn't my intent," Praxidice replied. "She's my friend."

"Yes, yes, I know, dear. I will cover for you. Shall I send the family shuttle for your friend?"

"No...no, I'd like to keep her with me. If she wants to stay, that is," Praxidice replied, looking up at Vette. "It's your choice, Vette."

Vette looked a bit like an ikopi in headlights. She looked from Darth Ceres to Praxidice. "Go with the scary Sith or the Sith that laughs at my jokes," Vette muttered. Praxidice guessed she was putting on a brave face to hide nervousness. "Think I'll stick with the Sith who likes my jokes."

"Then we shall rely once again on the idea that you, my dear Praxidice, are a rich and spoiled brat. The cover story will be that your Twi'lek is an obvious spy from me. You both know this fact, that...I'm sorry, dear, what was your friend's name again?"

"Vette, Mother."

"That Vette is spying on you for me. A pair of eyes for me to watch your trials without the hassle of installing spy bugs in every corner of Korriban," Darth Ceres replied.

"I'd like a salary set up for Vette then, to cover our tracks more," Praxidice replied softly. She shushed Vette's sounds of surprise, patting Vette's head out of habit.

"Of course, I was thinking a six digit sum. Which would include hazard pay and what-"

"Six digits?" Vette whispered, squeaking.

"Of course, my daughter's progress is worth that much and more," Darth Ceres insisted. "You can use a chunk of the first payment to equip yourself better for the job. You look like a pistol user to me, is that correct?"

"Um...yes ma'am, but I can use both pistols and blaster rifles," Vette answered, subdued in shock from a six digit paycheck.

"I'll get Revel to get you a pair of pistols and a set of respectable clothes, those tomb digging rags don't suit an employee of mine. Praxidice, dear, do you mind if I get your old smuggling gear modified? I think they may fit her."

"I don't mind at all, I was just going to suggest that. Thank you, Mother. For this and for covering for me."

"Oh shush, cub," Darth Ceres cooed. She paused a moment and said seriously, "Seriously, shush. I'll call Tremel to tell him that I've delayed you further. Stay by the shuttle landing pad out past the entrance to the tomb of Tulak Hord. You have my permission to kill anyone who gives you trouble." With that, Darth Ceres shut off the call.

Praxidice looked over to Vette, trying to squash her hope. There was no guarantee that Vette would even like the person she had become in the ten years that they were more apart than they already were. But...she had to keep some hope. At the end of the day, even when everything else lays dead, hope is still burning. That is what Praxidice had learned her entire life.

"So...while we walk, do you want to retell the story about the time you were...ten, I believe, and you killed a man using a candlestick and sheer determination?" Praxidice offered to break the awkward silence.

Vette blinked, but a grin slowly spread. "I only made that story up to seem cool to someone older than me...I think she was the only person I told that story to. Ever. It was a cheesy tacky story, I tried to forget it to be honest with you."

"I can guarantee you that the person you once told hasn't spread it around," Praxidice replied. "In fact, that person might be physically closer to you than you think."

"...Hana? I thought you were-"

"I guess it's my turn to tell a story, now isn't it? We get to play catch up now."

"...what happened to being Miss Mysterious Sith Lady? Miss 'I Cannot Reveal Who I am Until I am a True Sith'?" Vette asked, rebounding from surprise rather quickly.

Praxidice smiled sheepishly, answering, "I ah...got too excited. Shall I begin in my story then?"

"Go ahead, I owe you for listening to all of my shitty stories."


	5. Riding the Styx: Korriban Part 3

Vette was an interesting topic to discuss with Praxidice, if anyone chose to ask. By Vette's face, she was surprised about many things about Praxidice's old life. Praxidice was taking a wild and (perhaps) hopeful guess that Vette was pleasantly surprised about her role.

"...never knew Hanalai was a slave," she whispered, both women sitting in the shade on the ground next to a wall. "I was told she was a secretary. She never said anything otherwise."

"She had been trained not to say. To keep quiet. You had her believe the lie that she was free and worth something, for all the times that you were there," Praxidice responded, tracing a few fingers along the wall. It was worn down by the wind and sand, smooth to the touch from its conditioning. "Strike Quick certainly didn't want your anti-slavery boss coming down on him for his one slave. Especially a slave who was taught to be expendable from age ten."

"A slave, just for reading? Don't think I've ever heard of that, like, ever," Vette replied.

Praxidice shrugged. "She technically wasn't just for reading. She was also a last line of defense, what with the...I think eight vibroknives she kept on her person...yes, I think eight."

"Yeah, no, I remember her and the knives too damn well," Vette answered, looking away from Praxidice. "Seeing her with one of her eyes shot out...ugh, gross. Didn't think I was worth that much to her. I was an eleven year old scatterbrain that told stories taller than some of these dust heaps, chewed her ear off more than once, and I even ate most of her candy." Vette looked back over at Praxidice. "Yet she took a shot for that kid...several shots for that kid. Almost scares me what else she would've taken a shot for."

"You two may not have seen each other much, but she thought of you often. Often enough to save you candy in her desk, to remember your tales in times of darkness," Praxidice replied. "Her life was filled with far too much silence. Too much loneliness. I think you were one of the only ones to ever treat her like something other than a slave or a droid."

Vette looked down, going to draw something in the sand with her finger. The two fell into a silence, Praxidice looking away so she wasn't staring. She made sure not to jump when Vette whispered, "She was one of the only ones to ever treat me...like...like she cared what I thought."

"She did," Praxidice whispered. "Despite her being dead, I don't think she will ever stop." Seeing a ship with her mother's symbol on it, Praxidice rose from her sitting position. "There's Mother's ship. Andronikos Revel will most likely want to talk to you privately, he is...he is blunt and does not hide anything. Especially violent thoughts. Keep in mind that I am just outside and can burst through the doors and one scre-"

"I got it, Dice, I got it, stop fussing, that's not very Sithy of you," Vette teased quietly, standing up to poke Praxidice in the cheek and smile at her. Praxidice returned her smile with a snort, crossing her arms and trying to bristle with indifference. The image was enough to get Vette to snicker.

The two women made their way over to the ship on the landing pad, watching the doors open to see the tattooed and weathered face of Darth Ceres's pet pirate, Andronikos Revel. He gave a crooked grin to Praxidice, bowing only with a nod of his head. She nodded back, unhooking one of her arms from its crossed position to motion to Vette. "Andronikos, this is Vette. Vette, Andronikos Revel, infamous pirate, good pilot-"

"Good? Prax, I may be gettin' older, but I think I'm better than good," he interjected with a snort, crossing his arms. Andronikos looked over Vette, humming softly. "You were one of Nok Drayen's whelps, weren't you?"

"For a while, yeah, what's it to you?" Vette asked. Praxidice watched them both, hands itching for a lightsaber. She didn't like Andronikos's tone, it felt far too predatory for a simple inquiry.

Andronikos was quiet for a moment, watching Vette. He muttered, "I'm sorry for what happened to the old man. Damn shame."

"...yeah, it was," Vette replied.

"Prax, go brood or do something Sithy," Andronikos replied. "Us normal folk got a conversation to have." Praxidice opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. "Relax. I'm not gonna hurt one...damn, Twi'lek don't really have hair...I'm not gonna hurt one tiny bit of her lekku on her head."

"...fine," Praxidice replied, going back to perch on the old dusty walls. She watched as Vette went inside the ship. She mused over what she must have looked like, in a poetic sense.

In metaphors, she knew she was a tusk cat with its cub when it came to Vette. In similes, she was like a tusk cat with its cub. Praxidice pondered a bit which fit her, the stronger metaphor (to be) or the weaker simile (to be like). It kept her from anxiously thinking about worst case scenarios.

She trusted Andronikos with her own safety, but not with the safety of anyone she cared for. She made that mistake a few years ago, during her years pretending to be a smuggler.

Before she got her Sith tattoos, Praxidice went by the name Charon and smuggled within Republic territory. She smuggled goods to refugees of the conflict on Taris and Balmorra. During that time, she befriended a Trandoshan mercenary Brishkah Isskoh. She was more open minded about Trandoshans, overlooking the violent prejudices. Brishkah had been...gentle. He was equal parts gentle and violent, a duality like a sea. The dual nature reflected in his scale coloration, red with brown stripes, and in his eyes. One blind, the other still able to see.

Had she had more time with him, Praxidice was certain that she would have fallen in love with the mercenary.

But Andronikos had gotten in the way. Perhaps for the best, perhaps for the worst. During a monthly check up with the pirate, Andronikos had learned of Brishkah. The day after that...Brishkah disappeared. Praxidice still wasn't sure if Brishkah was still alive. Andronikos wouldn't say anything about the subject beyond "kid, some things are best left in the dust" or something similar.

If only...

"Dice! Korriban to Dice, come in Dice!" Vette cut into Praxidice's train of thought. "I don't think Revel was serious when he said to brood. Do you always glow when you brood or was that, uh, special?"

"...special. I was elsewhere," Praxidice responded, looking over Vette. Vette was wearing her old smuggling gear, black leather with red pieces here and there. Vette pulled off the collar better than she ever did. "My old clothes look good on you," Praxidice teased, chuckling. She looked over at the shuttle pad and found herself relieved when her mother's ship was gone. "I take it that Andronikos left?"

"Yeah, he said he figured he didn't need to say goodbye. Is he always so...big brother?"

"I'm afraid I will need some elaboration as we walk and talk our way back to Overseer Tremel's office for the next part of my trials," Praxidice replied, getting off the wall and landing by Vette. The two began their walk back to the temple.

Vette rolled her hands over each other, seeming to think over something for a moment. "He was like...traditional big brother, you know? Like in the books and stuff. Protective like...fiercely protective."

"Mmmm...doing his job. Mother pays him well to protect her estate and I am part of her estate," Praxidice replied, trying to seem dismissive.

"Yes, because the safest place to send your daughter is the Sith Academy. It was rated the most non-deadly school in all the systems on the Holonet, you know, totally not a place where people of all ages die," Vette remarked with a snort. "But if you say so."

"I do say so, Vette. With him, sometimes...things are best left forgotten."

* * *

“Is this everything?” Praxidice could hear Tremel ask someone inside his office. She motioned for Vette to stay outside the door and entered.

Tremel was talking with some acolyte (acolyte by the flimsy vibrosword. She swore the handle looked to be made of tin) while sitting at his desk. The acolyte looked to be a mere errand boy as a datapad in Tremel’s hand reflected a bit of the light. Must have been running something for another master or overseer to Tremel.

“Everything Lord Renning was able to obtain, yes,” the acolyte sputtered, confirming Praxidice’s suspicion. She stood at the door, waiting for her overseer to be done with his business.

Tremel caught her eye and commanded, “Then run back to your master in the beast pens, before I cut you in half.” The acolyte nodded quickly, turning to run out the door. Praxidice sidestepped out of the nervous acolyte’s way, feeling a tiny bit of pity. Such threats were unnecessary, especially to an acolyte as poorly prepared for...well anything as that one appeared.

Mother taught her to save her threats so that they believed. According to all current evidence, Tremel had fallen out of that practice.

“Sorry to make you wait, acolyte. These interruptions are incredibly annoying. I take it that your business with Darth Ceres is taken care of?” Tremel asked, rising from his seat. He was still reading the datapad the acolyte had brought.

“It will provide no more trouble,” Praxidice replied. “What is my next trial?”

“First, we must discuss your trial in the jail cells and the...outburst that happened before that,” Tremel responded.

Praxidice had to lightly bite the tip of her tongue in her mouth to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She settled for a quip instead. “Chronological order then?”

“I suppose that would make it easier for you to comprehend,” Tremel drawled, his eyebrows falling into a frown. “Your outburst, though brattish and unorderly...seems to have gone well with Darth Baras. He appreciates a Sith who can forgo the pleasures of torture for practical reasons, it seems.”

“Then it appears we will get along in that regard,” Praxidice responded. “Next?”

“First, the assassin, Solentz-”

“Odd, she gave her name to me as Shaneeka,” Praxidice interrupted. “I suppose either Solentz or Shaneeka is an alias, which would make sense. Did my decision to send her to Imperial Intelligence go over well?”

“Let me finish, acolyte.” Praxidice held back a smile at her overseer’s frustrated tone. Poking at the Endorian chicken was an enjoyable practice, especially when the chicken fluffed its feathers. “She attempted to kill an Imperial spy, but was unaware of her employer’s affiliation. You assigned her to Imperial Intelligence. I commend that, that was excellent thinking.”

“Thank you, overseer,” she replied, bowing her head.

“It’s a rare aspect to see in acolytes today, the instinct to save a potential resource,” Tremel continued. "Darth Baras likes to see that. Now, Devotek, the former warrior. You didn't even waste your time on him and thus I will follow your correct example and not waste time by saying anything other then good job. Lastly, the forger you sent back for torture even though he seemed innocent. A strong decision. Leave no stone unturned."

"The ripple from even a tiny stone can flow a great distance," Praxidice replied, quoting something from the top of her head as she waited for him to just. Get on with it. She could live without this man's praise, overseer or not. She just wanted to get into the position she had trained for ten years to get into. She was no newly born cub.

She could feel her fists clench when Tremel's face turned to amusement. "Well, well," he taunted, "look who just turned deep and insightful."

"I thought that was the purpose of this set of trials, Overseer Tremel," Praxidice remarked. "To check to see if I am deep and insightful. Enough to be useful to a Master, at any rate."

"Yes, yes, you're perfectly right. It's just refreshing to see that you are not just a proud tuk’ata," Tremel remarked.

Praxidice snorted, folding her arms across her chest and forcing her hands to relax. "More of a cat, really. Mother thinks I was Cathar in another life." Tremel's face drained a bit of its arrogance and she smirked lightly. Name dropping both Mother and her "Cathar assassin" in the same sentence seemed to be enough to remind Tremel of his place. "Now, Overseer, I am absolutely thrilled to hear what trial is ahead of me. Can't let Vermin - apologies, Vemrin - get ahead of me now, can we?"

"I...I was not done going over the prisoner trials." He had to take a swift moment to settle his face back into a stony mask. "You made the best possible decision for each prisoner. There is a small reward for you at your bunk. I suggest resting for tomorrow we make our move. Your trial tomorrow will be to face the Beast of Marko Ragnos. I will brief you more in the morning. You are dismissed, acolyte."

Praxidice bowed before exiting the room with a flourish, Vette following after her swift footsteps.

* * *

"Dice, that thing...it was the size of the wall! The wall!"

"Yes, Vette, it was."

"You just ran about its feet with that vibrosword Sith training thing and slashed. You could've been stepped on."

"The vibrosword Sith training thing is called a Sith warblade. You could have joined me in being almost stepped on. In future scenarios, would you rather trade spots next time? I imagine it would be inefficient to do so, but if it would make you more-"

"No. No, no, no. I'll keep my position by the door, thank you. You can dance with the thing while its feet are, were, bigger than this taxi cab. I'm just-"

"In shock that it's dead?"

"Yeah. We...we took it down. Mostly you, I was busy."

"Busy being in shock that a Sith would keep something like that in their tomb."

"Yes. That."

Praxidice chuckled softly, fixing her long hair into her braid as they rode inside the taxi back to the Academy. “My mother has something similar that prowls around in her library. Have you heard of Sith alchemy, Vette?”

“I’m going to guess it’s gross and that I don’t want the details.”

“It is, more or less, using the Dark Side of the Force to manipulate life in any manner the practitioner wishes. Usually to make bioweapons,” Praxidice laid back. “I’m guessing we’ll be seeing more of those, eventually.”

“Wasn’t that crazy guy, Lord Renning, trying to look into doing that stuff with the tuk’ata?”

“Fairly certain that tuk’ata were made via Sith alchemy, but don’t quote me on that.”

Vette made a face. “My lord, if I ever get in a conversation about tuk’ata or Sith alchemy, please feel free to step right in for me.”

“Duly noted, Vette,” Praxidice muttered with amusement, her lips quirking up.

They walked on in companionable silence after exiting the taxi, entering the Academy. Praxidice had Vette deliver two packages. One of a list of confirmed traitors to the Empire for Lord Arzanon. The other a datacron full of scans for bloodline purity for Lord Abaron. Doing a few favors for other Sith would help her popularity -- if things went mildly sour (mild enough for her not to die, that is), she could maybe approach someone and offer herself as an apprentice. Her mother wouldn’t approve of the “groveling”, but it would be a step in the right direction.

Praxidice turned the corner to head for Overseer Tremel’s office, pausing a moment as she heard a soft noise. Someone took a sharp breath -- inhale, not exhale. She reached for her warblade, holding the hilt in her hand as she turned the corner. Dolgis almost bumped into her.

“Well, look who’s here. Remember me?” he sneered, crossing his arms.

Praxidice took a step back, getting some space. “What do you want, Dolgis?” she asked, lowering her hand. Immediate violence was not necessary with Dolgis -- he could be intimidated. It’s why he hid behind monsters like Vemrin.

“Notice anythin’ interesting?” Dolgis smirked, motioning around the hallway with a single hand. “No witnesses. No witnesses means no rules.”

“I suppose we aren’t counting the fact that Overseer Tremel’s office is a little ways to your right then,” Praxidice muttered, observing her surroundings while keeping him in the corner of her vision.

“No more shortcuts,” Dolgis continued, ignoring her. “No more special treatment. You’re just going to be another dead failure on Korriban.”

“Am I? Dolgis, dear,” Praxidice chuckled. “I’ll let you have a taste of what I have been holding back.”

Dolgis withdrew his vibrosword, lighting it with a click. Praxidice didn’t withdraw her weapon, letting him come at her with a roar and a charge.

She manifested her anger at being treated like a pawn, a plaything. There was no peace in submission, only discontent. Discontent could be turned to passion for freedom, a cause worth fighting for. She would be free of this pup’s hackling.

Praxidice sidestepped his charge, ducking down as he tried to swipe his vibrosword at her. She slid between his legs, planting her hands on his back and letting her passion and anger manifest itself as lightning from her fingertips.

Dolgis writhed, letting out a primal growl of pain. He dropped his vibrosword, slowly falling to his knees as Praxidice took out her frustrations on him. “N-no, hold up, hold up,” Dolgis wheezed, trying to push Praxidice and her hands away from him. “Look, I was wrong.”

Praxidice paused a moment, wrapping her hand around the one that he had been using to try to push her away. She slowly put her hand on his face, a silent threat. “What were you wrong about, Dolgis?” she growled quietly.

“Wh-what they’re sayin’ about you-”

“Which part of what they are saying, Dolgis?” she asked, curling her fingers a bit to jab his facial skin with her finger nails. “Come now, I don’t have all day.”

“It’s...it’s totally true! You’re so...strong. I don’t wanna die!” Dolgis sputtered, looking up at her like a kicked dog. Praxidice allowed herself a smirk.

“Oh, oh Dolgis,” she whispered. “Why take on a monster if you wished not to die?”

“W-wanted...wanted to get in Vemrin’s good books. Please, I’ll do anything!”

“Mmmmm...keep an eye on Vemrin for me,” she muttered. “You know I am the superior monster. Betray me and the pain you have experienced today will be much...much greater. You are to send me text reports only on an encrypted frequency. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes! I’ll never try to take you down again!”

“Good. Do this and everyone will come out of this so much stronger,” she whispered. She dropped him. “Go. Scurry back to Vemrin. Does he know that you attempted this?”

“N-no! I wanted to surprise him.”

Praxidice almost let out a laugh at how pathetic he was. A sniffling weakling, desperate to live and to please. “Make sure it remains that way. Make your excuses, but leave me out of them. I will know if you mention me.”

She let him go, watching him hobble away once he made it to standing. She stiffened when she heard Vette’s voice go, “So...all Sith politics like that or are you special?”

“...slightly special. Most Sith don’t recycle,” Praxidice responded. “How much did you witness?”

“The end of you shocking him to the ground and letting him beg. Don’t worry about it, nobody else saw. I looked around,” Vette replied, shrugging. “Sith are Sith. S’not a normal day without a little torture.”

“Vette, I-”

“Dice. I worked as an assassin. I’m not a kid anymore.”

The two had a short stare-off. Praxidice cut it it short, closing her eyes and sighing. “We’ll discuss it more later, in private. I would appreciate if you stood guard by the door.”

“I can do that, my lord.”

Praxidice nodded, suddenly tired. She walked into Overseer Tremel’s office for her next hoop to jump through.

Tremel was pacing at the end of his office, muttering softly as his hands were twitching and folding behind his back. He jumped as Praxidice cleared her throat and announced her presence. “I return from slaying the beast, Overseer,” she replied.

“We must speak quickly, acolyte, there isn’t much time. I may have made a slight miscalculation,” Tremel stated in hushed tones.

“How slight, Tremel?” Praxidice asked, her eyes narrowing.

Tremel sighed, putting his hands to his hips. Closer to his lightsaber. “The beast of Marka Ragnos was a great source of dark energy here on Korriban.” Praxidice raised her eyebrows. “When it was slain, there was a tremor in the Force.”

“...and Darth Baras could feel it, couldn’t he?” Praxidice asked, taking a long breath in.

“He could and he did. He has become aware of you and demands an audience.”  
She exhaled, letting herself smile a bit. “Good. I have been waiting for this for a long time,” she replied, putting her hands together and softly cracking her knuckles.

“After meeting him, you may wish you had some additional time to prepare,” Tremel snapped, frowning slightly. “Baras is a serious man, but a master of deception. Everything he says and does is calculated.”

“Good, then I will have something in common with the beast,” Praxidice replied.

Tremel continued, ignoring Praxidice’s comment, “He will attempt to trip you up, test your nature, get to the heart of who you are. Always take him seriously, I mean always.”

“Understood,” Praxidice stated, folding her arms over the small of her back. “I can handle Darth Baras’s...audience. But I thank you for your advice, Overseer Tremel.”

“Baras is usually the one doing the handling,” he sighed, stopping his pacing. “We might not speak again, acolyte. You’re the best chance of stopping Vemrin. If you fail, I doubt there will be another strong enough. Good luck.”

“I will rely on my prowess, not luck. But I appreciate the sentiment,” Praxidice remarked, making a ninety degree turn to face the wall.

“Meet him in his chambers, on the second floor of the Academy. Hurry -- he will not take kindly to waiting."


	6. Koryphagenês (Born of the Head): Korriban Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Praxidice reveals some of her true colors.

“There, Teeno, I believe that's the one.”

“Really? All right. Hey, you!”

“ _Careful_ , Teeno.”

“C’mon, I’m antsy for some action.”

Whispers, the whole Academy. Nothing but a chorus of whispers. Praxidice had sent Vette off to report to her mother -- having a companion would have given the wrong impression and this keeps up their appearance of that nothing was out of the ordinary. A rich acolyte with a parent’s spy tagging along, making reports. Nothing more.

Praxidice turned her stare to the group of acolytes approaching her, four in number, two were the loudest whispers. Humans. Two -- the silent two -- looked near identical besides their facial paint, one with and one without, black glinting under the lights on one’s sunburnt cheeks. They were bookends, nothing special if her sense of the Force was accurate. The two in the middle -- one tall and broad, the second small and thin -- had...potential. But they were not at her level. Not yet. Two seeds, two _pips_...or were they _pits_? Praxidice could not tell, musing softly as she watched them approach.

“You there! Are you the big shot they're all talking about? The one who's been personally summoned by Darth Baras himself?” The big one burned inside, a charged blaster cannon with no target to burn. He had been neglected by his overseer, Praxidice mused. Ambition to be noticed simmered at his surface. A pit of a pyre, perhaps?

“Does anyone have anything better to do than gossip? If so, I should hardly think I am the most interesting subject of which to talk of in this academy. For example, I hear Darth Ceres and Darth Jadus were having angry Force-charged **lovemaking** down in the library two months prior. If you hurry, you could soak up what is left of the dark energy aftermath.” She kept herself sarcastically sincere in her response, placing a hand on her hip as she looked between the two. “Now, if we are _done_ swapping gossip-”

“Please pardon my overeager friend. It's just that we've heard so much about you.” The small one was a different story than her companions. She had more of Praxidice’s attention than the larger one. A pit of a passion fruit, the juice burning along.

“And we want to get in good with you!”

“Teeno! What my blunt partner here means is that if you need anything or anyone, say, dealt with, we'd like you to consider us.”

“You’re referring to Vemrin.” Praxidice let a cheshire grin sprawl across her face, letting wheels turn in her head as she assessed the four. “While I appreciate the initiative, you would do best in my book to focus on your studies.”

“Before you say no, let us prove-”

“ _Silence_.” Praxidice let her powers glow in her eyes, tensing her step and looking between the four. She replied, “I have given my answer. While I appreciate the _initiative_ , I do not appreciate _stupidity_. You four have not yet earned your war blades. Let passion rule you, but do not let it interfere with logic. Vemrin and I are on the precipice of becoming Sith apprentices. We have experience and passions that, at this moment, outweigh your own.”

Praxidice circled around them, observing their reactions. Teeno, as he was referred to, was taking this poorly. Had his more diplomatic friend not put her hand on his chest, Praxidice was certain he would’ve charged her. She could hear the two mutter between each other, the name Phyne dripping out the cracks of Teeno’s gritted teeth as she held him back. The bookends stood as still as statues, seeming to have a nonverbal debate between the two.

“This is not a question of _respect_.” She brought their attention back to her. “This is a question of _your lives_. You all have great potential. Do not rush head first into proving yourselves worthy. Take this rejection and show that I am wrong. Become apprentices yourselves, learn what it means to be Sith.”

“Rich coming from the _pampered upstart_ ,” Teeno growled before Phyne could shush him. Phyne let out a tiny, scolding whimper of his name, flicking his chest.

Within a moment, Praxidice was between the two and holding up Teeno from his chest with a single hand. Phyne gasped, whispering pleas as Praxidice zapped Teeno. Just enough to put him to rest. Praxidice placed him down with a gentleness that she should not have spared for the runt.

She looked to Phyne. “Get him to his bunk. If he tries to go after Vemrin, you are to keep him from doing so. He has potential. Stoke his rage, make it a pyre for the Republic.”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

Praxidice didn’t look back on the four as they drifted out. She looked to the end of the corridor, walking into the den of Darth Baras.

“Most of you will not return from this endeavor. If you die, you will be forgotten. If you give up, you will be killed. Now, out of my sight.” The man was to the point and as on point as the metallic endings of his armor. He wore a mask where other Sith in the Academy wore none. He sat at his desk, watching his group of potentials leave for whatever task he had gave them.

She leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms as she watched the men. Perhaps her mother was right in assuming there was a casual sexism about the Empire. All the potential candidates for the one to be Darth Baras’s apprentice were male. Was it luck or an overseer’s hand that made it so? Praxidice couldn’t say, eyes sweeping over the potentials for obvious physical weaknesses. A limp or an old scar. Something to give him some leeway if a fight broke out.

Vemrin and one other remained, both making a slow beeline to her. “I've got a bad feeling about this,” said the dull looking acolyte, motioning to the door and Vemrin.

Vemrin snorted. “You should. This is the end of the line for you, Klemral. Just make sure you stay out of my way.”

Klemral looked to Praxidice calmly. She gave him a nod in return, noting his presence. Klemral gave a soft smile. “Look here, Vemrin. I see the upstart, but no sign of Dolgis.”

Darth Baras called from his desk, “Klemral, Vemrin, you have been dismissed.”

“Yes, master.” Klemral left the small office space, hands folded behind his back and twisting softly. Nervously.

Vemrin growled, “I underestimated you by sending Dolgis. It will not happen again.” Praxidice raised her eyebrows. She had been lied to by Dolgis. She made a note in her mind to pay him back for the offense.

“I’m certain it will. Good luck, Vemrin.” She gave him a soft bow with her head, resting her hands in front of her in a steeple.

He left with a snarl, stomping out of the room. The hound sent to hunt. She looked to Darth Baras, approaching his desk.

“Are you having **trouble** with acolyte Vemrin, supplicant?” he asked, tilting his head a bit to the left.

Praxidice stood before his desk, letting the word supplicant roll through her mind. _Supplicant_ , noun. A person who asks for something in a respectful way from a powerful person or god. It was rather telling of Darth Baras’s self esteem, but the real question was if Baras preferred himself a person or as a god. “Acolyte Vemrin feels that I have cheated. It is his right to feel about me however he wishes. If he wishes to hurt me, I doubt he will be able to do so.”

“Such confidence for an acolyte who has been here for what? A few days? Chauffeured through her trials like a princess on display.”

“I’d actually say I was shoved rather than chauffeured, my lord. Like a square block into a circle hole.”

“You do not believe yourself fit to be my apprentice?”

“I am fit to be anyone’s apprentice. It was Overseer Tremel who put pieces into the wrong places. My mother wished me among the acolytes, as she once was. To fight and earn my place. Overseer Tremel rushed through my training and thus I am here -- a fish out of water, so to speak. And yet, I am still a match for Acolyte Vemrin.” Praxidice watched Darth Baras as she spoke, weaving words as she was taught.

His body language was quiet as a statue’s. Tremel had not been kidding in saying that Darth Baras did the handling.

Darth Baras stood from his seat slowly, the eye-plates of his mask upon her. “He has been hardened into a lethal machine. Vemrin has paid his dues. He's fought a deck stacked against him to get here.”

“And I respect him for that. He is worthy of my respect. I do not find him my inferior, but my rival in this game.”

“Hmmm...let me get a closer look at you.” Darth Baras moved from behind his desk, circling her. She stood stock still, watching him. “Yes, as I suspected. Overseer Tremel has done you and this Academy a great disservice. Your warblade came early, prisoners flown in for your convenience, even a beast here on Korriban instead of offworld in the wild.” Darth Baras stood in front of Praxidice, resting his hands behind his back. “The pacing of the trials is deliberate. Only full immersion over time produces results. Your mind is soft, unhoned, undisciplined.”

Praxidice felt her each of her hands burn for a lightsaber. To show her hand, to play her cards right through his neck and crush his mask around his head like a pair of jaws around a fruit. But that wasn’t what her mother raised her for. She held her rage back, let it simmer. She would need it later, that much was certain. She replied through an easy smile, “I disagree. _Emphatically_.”

“The first month of trials should be dedicated to philosophy, conceptual tactics, understanding of the Sith Code. Recite the Sith Code for me, acolyte, and explain its meaning in battle, war, and politics.” Darth Baras stood as still as he had been since stopping his examination. If it was due to pretentious assumptions about her training and her knowledge or if it was due to his indifference to her words, Praxidice couldn’t say.

She decided to give the Darth a bit of a surprise. She let spite fuel her as she closed her eyes, reciting the Code her mother had made her learn in her first week of training. “Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain victory.” Praxidice opened her eyes, holding her gaze (silver eyes holding a fire) to the eye of Darth Baras’s masked helmet. She stepped forward, the Darth holding his ground as she moved to where they would only have a foot between them. “Through victory, my bonds are broken. The Force shall free me.”

The air was thick with tension after Praxidice had finished reciting the Code in Basic. Darth Baras tilted his head, moving to speak, but Praxidice held up a hand to motion she was not done. She began reciting the Code again, this time in the language of the ancient Sith. “ _Nwûl tash. Dzwol shâsotkun. Shâsotjontû châtsatul nu tyûk. Tyûkjontû châtsatul nu midwan. Midwanjontû châtsatul nu asha. Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak. Wonoksh Qyâsik nun_.”

Praxidice exploded into movement after Darth Baras’s body language shifted from stony indifference to a level of intrigue. She paced in front of him, hands a sharp flurry of movement to emphasize her words. “The Sith Code, otherwise referred to as the _Qotsisajak_ , was written many a century ago. It was written as a reply to the Jedi Code, as an improvement. The original author, Sorzus Syn, said that the Jedi Code that she and her compatriots knew was full of half truths. The Sith Code seeks to improve upon those half truths. Going line by line, we can interpret how the Sith Code addresses combat and politics.”

She kept her eyes and attention respectfully on Darth Baras, ready to stop if he gave the word. He gave no such word. Yet.

“Peace is a lie, there is only passion. True peace is a _lie_. We are always in competition, whether that be against a rival, a Republic, or the rules of life itself. In combat, this means accepting that even a ceasefire means there is the **potential** for the combat to resume. That every breath should be devoted to ending the combat by eliminating the opposing force in some manner, whether that be through death or bribes. The same goes for a political stance because politics are a whole other kind of combat and can be just as bloody. Permission to continue for the following lines, my lord?”

“Permission granted, acolyte,” Darth Baras rumbled, watching her with his head tilted ever so slightly to the right. His hands stayed at his back, folded like an officer's stack of data-pads.

“Through passion, I gain strength. If you do not care for a cause or a battle, there is _no sense_ fighting for it. Acknowledging a passion for a particular cause is _vital_. If one does not care, one does not **fight**. It is a farse, an illusion. The Jedi maintain the illusion that they care for the people they protect, that they care for _all_. Even those who speak out against them. The Sith use no such illusions. They fight for a variety of different passions: they hate the source of the conflict, they wish to protect the ideals our Empire is founded upon, they love themselves more above everything and are willing to do anything to better their conditions. Like the tuk’ata hunting the scraps of prey in the deserts of Korriban, we Sith hunt for what _truly_ sustains us -- our desires, our hopes, our dreams. I ask again: permission to continue or is that all the taste of my mind you desired, my lord?”

“You are not what you appear to be, acolyte,” Darth Baras noted. “Perhaps you are fit to be my apprentice afterall.”

Praxidice did not comment, simply returning to her position in front of him and folding her hands in front of her. She kept her eyes on him as he moved as suddenly as she had when she vaulted into her answer, Darth Baras reexamining her with this new knowledge of her philosophical training. She waited as he stalked around her, his massive frame almost radiating with energy as wheels probably spun in his head.

Darth Baras stood behind her, hands slowly settling on her shoulders. She did not flinch at the touch. She did not relax to it either. “I am your master now,” Darth Baras muttered. “Tremel was becoming lax before you ever arrived. His unwillingness to adapt to the evolving Sith paradigm has become a liability. These are the actions of a traitor. Traitors are executed. I grant you immunity from punishment.” Darth Baras removed his hands from her shoulders and Praxidice turned to face her new master. “Kill Tremel and bring back his hand as proof.”


	7. The River that Bleeds: Korriban Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Praxidice enters the final phase of her work on Korriban and receives the master she came to be appointed to. At last.

“I didn't expect to see you again so soon. Has Baras sent you back to me?”

The two looked at each other. Praxidice began looking at him as she would any target: weak points, to figure out how he burned inside. Tremel was a torch, something to begin a path and to lead the way. But he was not substantial without someone or something to hold him up.

Praxidice was determined to **_not_ ** be like him. She would burn without a stand, having her own roots and power to support herself. This is why she left Vette outside, to let her do odd jobs about the Academy to make herself some more credits before they left this bloody world.

She pondered if her mother built him to be torch-like or if he softened to that state before speaking softly. “In...a manner of speaking, yes. He has sent me back to you...to kill you. I only announce it so that a fair fight may be had between the two of us.” She pulled her vibrosword from her back, holding it in her hand.

“Then I have been outplayed. Baras has the authority, but I did not think he would do something this overt. Either I die or he forces me to kill you and to destroy my own plan. A master stroke.” She felt the pull of Tremel trying to take her weapon from her with a subtle hand motion as he spoke, but she tightened her grip. He gave a sigh and stood. “Very well. You have your orders, acolyte. Know that it gives me no pleasure to kill you.”

“You may not refer to me simply by title anymore, Tremel. I am Praxidice Desponia, heir to the Desponia legacy, and I will not fall to one such as you,” she snarled.

Praxidice whipped into a backflip as Tremel lept over his desk with his lightsaber. She kicked him in the face, cutting his momentum for a brief moment that allowed her to strike at his side. He grunted and swung at her (righthanded, always lead with his right when making gestures) and she ducked into the motion, letting him pass over her head. She punched him brutally with her left hand, her rage manifesting as lightning as she clawed into his stomach. A soft whimper escaped Tremel at the pain and the man nearly crumpled. He tried to cut off the hand she was using to electrocute him, but she blocked his blade with her own. The stalemate wouldn’t last long, her blade was butter to his knife, but it was enough time for her to push him onto his desk and knock his blade from her hand. She called it to her hand and made the lightsaber her own. She held it to his neck, a part of her giddy that she had a lightsaber again.

“I will cut off your hand,” she muttered into his ear, Tremel barely conscious from all the pain. “I will cut off your hand and you will be cut from the Empire, you parasite. You are weak -- the Empire deserves better teachers in Her Heart.”

“I-I-”

His protests, his begging -- whatever he was going to spew from his mouth like the worm he was -- were cut at the same time as his hand. Tremel screamed and Praxidice was filled with such validation at hearing the scream of pain. He panted, watching her with half-lidded eyes as she plucked up his hand like a flower.

“With this hand, Tremel is dead,” she whispered. “And the Endorian chicken returns to its roost.”

“I-I d-don’t-”

She punched him.

* * *

 

“What's this? The acolyte returns and with a bloodied weapon. I assume this means Tremel is no more.”

Praxidice was kneeled before his desk, Tremel’s still warm hand in her own. Its wrinkles were clearly evident in the light, lifeline curling towards the wrist until meeting a sudden end. She muttered softly, “This is correct, Master. He is no more than this hand here.”

“Give me his hand.”

She rose and gave laid the hand palm down upon the desk. She kept her eyes on Baras as he took his gloved hands and slid a modest gold ring off of the pointer finger. Some part of her noted that Vette would, in her shoes, probably be slightly disappointed that Baras was giving her the ring off the pointer instead of the middle. She found herself amused by the thought, but pushed it to the back of her mind as Baras held the ring in the air towards her.

“Here. Take this one ring as a memento.” Praxidice gently took it from his hand, wrapping it in her own. “Remembering the past can strengthen resolve and embolden the spirit.”

“Thank you, Master,” she muttered softly. “I shall remember your wisdom.”

“Think nothing of it, acolyte,” Baras replied, waving a hand to brush off her thanks. “Though, I am impressed you had the fortitude to destroy him.” Praxidice resisted the urge to change her facial expression to match her disdain of where he was going with this. A simple test, she thought he respected her intelligence. “You know, he thought of you as family. How did it feel to betray him?”

“I was doing what was taught to me by him and that was strengthening the Empire,” she answered. “Perhaps not in the manner of which he thought, but the fact remains he was looking to strengthen the Empire. Such misguided efforts as to supplement his own agenda for such over a superior...must be punished and made into examples. It was called for.”

“Mm.” She watched him as he tilted his head. “Interesting. You mask your feelings well. As long as you don't suppress them. You have taken your first step, under my tutelage, to understanding the Sith Code. Recite it with me.”

Both of them rose from their positions, moving towards the ancient Sith statue to the right of the room. “Peace is a lie, there is only passion.” Baras unsheathed his lightsaber, lighting it and holding it towards her. In reflex, she took Tremel’s lightsaber and met his with its crimson blade.

“Through passion, I gain strength,” they both said together, Baras moving his blade down into a child’s feint and she blocked the strike from where he was truly going to strike from.

“Through strength, I gain power.” She blocked him again as he went for a stab towards her chest, again in a basic manner. She kept defensive, letting the master lead and to find out where he was leading her on this.

“Through power, I gain victory and through victory my chains are broken.” She blocked him again as he went to slash at her arm.

“The Force shall set us free.” They both turned off the lightsabers, Baras hilted his lightsaber and placed it against his hip again. He held out his hand and Praxidice slowly gave him Tremel’s lightsaber. “By embracing the code and destroying Tremel, you have freed yourself from his shackles. And escaped his fate.”

“And now I’m bound by different shackles.”

“You'll find they are a marked improvement, with much greater potential range.”

The conversation paused a moment and Praxidice considered the word _potential_. Adjective; having or showing the **capacity** to become or develop into something in the future. "A two-pronged campaign to woo _potential_ followers," her mother's voice crooned in her head. **Capacity** : noun; the ability or power to do, experience, or understand something. Just because she had the **ability** to _develop_ into a range, but that doesn’t mean she would _develop_ into a range under Baras. It was a subtle warning.

She kneeled again, eyes never leaving his mask as she kept her head upright and defiant. “What would you have of me now, my lord?”

* * *

 

“You’ve returned with the shards?”

“I have, Klemral.”

* * *

 

“Y’know, with how the Sith act, I would’ve never known that they’re just errand runners with really big knives.”

“Incorrect, Vette.”

“Oh you’re right, sorry, really big, glowy knives with customizable features like color!”

“Careful, Vette, if you continue on I might mistake you for an awning rather than my tomb cracker.”

“Uh huh. Almost done with this first one.”

* * *

 

“So like...all these people in here are failed versions of you?”

Praxidice looked down at the felled acolyte, feeling a soft twist of pity in her chest. “Yes...yes they are,” she replied as Vette worked on the second mechanism.

“Huh...that’s almost... _sad_.”

“Why almost?”

“Because they would’ve been genocide hungry Sith Lords.”

“I do not hunger for...stop looking at me like that, I don’t hunger for genocide! Merely the defeat of the Republic.”

“You’d have to kill enough people for a genocide to do that.”

“We...we shall see.”

* * *

 

“Hey, this is it.” Praxidice paused, looking to Vette. Vette had her eyes scouring the tomb’s room, biting her lower lip. “The secret entrance to the hidden cavern is in here. Just let me get my bearings.”

Praxidice gave her a short nod, her whole body tense with the battles she fought throughout the tomb to get here. She had her training saber in her hand -- it hadn’t left her hand the whole time in the tombs, constantly carving down failed acolytes and disciples with crimson light -- and she paced the room like a tusk cat trapped in a cage.  
Vemrin lept out at her from the shadows, but his attack was met with brutal response. She spun and kicked him down to the floor, pointing her saber at him. “Vemrin.” 

“Praxidice!” he snarled, pouncing up from the floor.

“Vette!” Vette chirped in from the middle of the room, pointing her blaster at Vemrin.

Praxidice chuckled softly. “Thank you, Vette. Very helpful for roll-call.”

“What can I say, I’m a helper.”

“Slave, get back to work on finding the entrance. Have it done by the time I’m done killing your new master.” Vemrin pointed his training saber at her own, the two twin blades meeting in a crimson light.

Vette raised her painted eyebrows incredulously, looking back and forth between Vemrin and Praxidice while mouthing the words, “Can you believe this guy?” Praxidice shook her head with a smile, shrugging.

“I’ll get right on that, boss,” Vette sprawled out sarcastically, putting her blaster back on her belt and looking around. Praxidice was touched by her faith in her abilities.

“My passions run deeper than yours. I am the true essence of what it is to be Sith,” Vemrin growled as he pushed his blade against her aggressively, closing the space between them.

Praxidice didn’t even flinch. “Big claims, Vemrin, big claims,” she scolded. “But I haven’t seen any evidence.”

“My legacy and my patience has suffered long enough. After today, you will be forgotten. It ends here and now.”

“I rather don’t think so. I think today is the day the vermin dies.”

* * *

 

Praxidice returned alone. She put the ancient lightsaber and a newly plucked, bleeding hand on Baras’s desk. “I thought Vemrin was to be kept in your chambers, Master.”

“It seems he escaped without my knowing. I take it by the bleeding hand on my desk you cut him down.”

“Like the vermin he was, my lord.”

“I suppose that saves me some time later. Well done, Praxidice. You are now my new apprentice.”

Praxidice left the hand and kneeled before her new master, finally bowing her head to him. “What would you have me do now, my lord?”


	8. Enter the Soteira: Dromund Kaas Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dromund Kaas, Part 1. In which Prax and Vette get to Dromund Kaas and Kaas City

“So, uh...here, my lord.”

Sitting inside the shuttle up the the Imperial fleet, Praxidice opened her eyes to look at Vette. She tilted her head in question at the outstretched blue-skinned palm with credits. “What is this for?”

“It’s your cut, since...well, you’re my master now. Figured that’s how things are done.”

“Vette-”

“Dice, take the money. _Your_ pleasure’s _my_ pleasure, right?”

Praxidice put her hand on Vette’s shoulder. “Vette, while I appreciate the gesture, but you don’t need to do this.”

“Then take it as payment.” Vette shrugged as Praxidice raised her eyebrows in question. “Look. I’d appreciate the removal of the shock collar. I’ll take that as payment for not shooting you in the back while fighting Vemrin and for unlocking the tomb. And _you_ can take the credits for the removal of the shock collar.”

The two stared at each other. Praxidice was glad they were the only two in this shuttle. And that they checked it for bugs before sitting down and that the guards were at the rear portion of the shuttle, far from their seats. Otherwise, the conversation she was having with Vette would have been much more...dangerous.

"Not that I don't enjoy the perpetual fear of electrocution," Vette piped up to break the awkward silence. “It’d just be...nice, y’know, not to have the shock collar on.”

“Believe me, I understand,” Praxidice muttered. They sat in silence a moment before Praxidice touched the shock collar. Even with the remote destroyed, it was still a danger to Vette’s health. “Vette...I’m sorry. This will be an odd request, however...could you continue wearing the shell of the collar?”

“Why?”

“Appearances. It could, ironically, open doors for you to claim you’re a Sith’s slave rather than an employee. Nobody-”

“Nobody sees slaves.” Vette smiled at Praxidice’s shocked facial expressions. “Look, as long as I’m not doing your laundry, don’t care. You’re giving me more freedom than other Sith would and you got me a paycheck of six digits that rolls around every few months. You want me to spy undercover as a slave, play the meek part, I can do that. Like I said, I did some assassination work and I’ve been on my own since Nok kicked the bucket. You cover my back, Dice, I got yours.”

Praxidice smiled. “We’re in agreement then. I will be your Sith friend and no one will dare pick on you at school.”

“Nope. Speaking of which, hand me the collar so I can modify it. I’m not a techno-genius, but I think I can put my com link in here when I remove the electric bits...more used to working on bombs, but I think if I...yeah...twist here...”

“Sounds like a worthwhile endeavor to keep busy during the travel time,” Praxidice replied.

She chuckled when Vette groaned, “Don’t remind me.”

* * *

They landed on Dromund Kaas. Praxidice helped Vette put the collar back on, making sure it wasn’t irritating any skin or her lekku. Praxidice checked them in at the kiosk, Vette keeping her eyes up and alert. They moved, Praxidice leading the way with Vette staying two to three steps behind her to her right. They both stopped when Praxidice put a hand to one of the two lightsabers, her gloved finger tracing the engraving of the immortalized tusk cat prowling along the hilt of her lightsaber. Her mother had her lightsabers waiting for her on the Imperial fleet, along with new color crystals. She knew Praxidice had difficulty resonating with one crystal that was provided, so they kept trying different ones in the meantime.

A man was waving to them. Non-Force user, no weapons, frilly clothing -- he was a messenger of a Sith lord. Praxidice and Vette made their way over to him, Praxidice raising her eyebrows in question.

“You're the one, yes. Not like the scabs that exited the shuttle with you. You radiate power, lord. I bow before you.” He scuttled with his words, but Praxidice steeled herself to be patient. He was a broken man, that much she could tell from his stiff body posture. He’d been someone beaten into a role he wasn’t expecting or used to. He was overcompensating for his own skin. “I serve Lord Baras. He sent me to meet his new apprentice. And I made sure I was here on time, I certainly did. Yes indeed.”

“Yes, you did. Well done,” Praxidice muttered, removing her hand from her lightsaber and folding her hands before her chest. Vette snorted and Praxidice could imagine her eyes rolling.

"I'm Lord Baras's slave who owes his every breath to the tolerance of our Lord. He said to introduce you to Dromund Kaas, a task I am honored to be trusted with." He put his hand on his chest, bowing slightly.

“Then introduce me,” Praxidice replied, motioning for the man to lead. She shared a glance with Vette and Vette shrugged. They followed him out of the spaceport.

* * *

“A-and that is the Citadel, my lord. Lord Baras’s chambers are within the center door of the building, with the Mandalorian Conclave to your left a-and Imperial Intelligence to your r-right.”

“Very well. Thank you, you performed your duty admirably.”

“Th-thank you, my lord! Your kind words fill me with overflowing **joy**! Will you-”

“I will tell Lord Baras of your performance. You are dismissed.”

Praxidice watched as the man scuttled out of her sight, hands folded behind her back as she looked out from the balcony the taxi station rested on. Vette whistled, looking down as she leaned on the railing besides Praxidice.

“That’s a long drop, boss,” Vette joked. Praxidice snorted, unfolding her hands to gesture out.

“That it is...thousands, nay I think millions, of apartments are down there. The Imperials must live somewhere, unseen and out of sight. Can’t have them destroying the Dromund Kaas atmosphere with visible apartment buildings, Vette.”

“Of course, can’t think of the little people. Sith are so much more important.” Praxidice laughed at Vette’s voice mimicking their tour guide, smirking. “Boss, I can’t even believe how lucky I got.”

Praxidice tilted her head, asking, “How come?”

Vette pushed up and out of her leaning position, standing up and motioning to the Citadel and the sky. “Out of all the Sith babies -- don’t give me that look, Korriban is Sith baby school and we both know it -- I got you. You laugh at my jokes and you don’t think you’re all important. It feels like a holodrama, almost too good to be true.”

Praxidice held back her wince at that last line, tossing out a retort with a flick of her hand. “Would you feel better if I dunked your head into a refresher?”

Vette sputtered, eyes widening, “Don’t you dare-”

A wide smirk spread across Praxidice’s features, Praxidice casually throwing her hands up in the air and holding them next to her cheeks in a pantomime of an Alderaanian lady. “Or showed up completely in the latest Nar Shaddaa fashions of dancing bikinis. I could call and get one-”

Vette was starting to giggle, sputtering on, “That is more skin than I’ll ever need to see from you, st-”

“We could go to the beach! There is always a beach episode, is there not?” Praxidice rotated her wrists, pointing her hands towards her face as she smiled coyly.

“You...you’re just messing with me, aren’t you?” Vette laughed, calming down. “You...you weren’t serious about a word that just came out of your mouth.”

“I do have a sense of humor under my pure Sith ambition.” Praxidice put her hands on her hips, turning back to look at Kaas City. “Lord Baras wanted me to explore the city more before seeing him, keeping a timetable of two or so hours in the city shouldn’t be hard, there’s not much to see. It’s not Nar Shaddaa or Alderaan.”

“C’mon, we can check out that bar again. You looked like you kind of wanted to punch the guy checking you out in there, it won’t take long.”

“Vette, he wasn’t checking me out, he was trying to find weaknesses!”

“Isn’t that the _same thing_ for Sith?”

“I am going to give you a serious re-education. From a master to her slave.”

“Hey, ouch. Not cool. You’re just mad and disappointed that I’m right.”

* * *

“Not a minute too soon. Your timing is impeccable.”

Praxidice felt herself puff up, shoulders perking upwards and her posture straightening as she walked in. She prided herself on being on time. She watched Lord Baras move around his desk, hands folded behind his back.

“Did it just get considerably colder?” Vette mumbled, looking up at the wall-mounted air vents. Praxidice forgot Vette was unused to being in the personal presence of a fully trained Sith lord. She made a half-step in front of Vette, keeping her eyes on Lord Baras.

He hummed, clapping his hands together. “I see you decided to keep the Twi'lek. I hope she amuses you. I understand you met with my welcoming committee.”

“I did. He performed his duties well, my lord,” she replied. “And the Twi’lek should prove useful in keeping my nosy mother appeased. Less chance of her interfering with your authority, Lord Baras.”

“I would have to bend to her will whether I liked it or not, considering her invulnerable position on the Dark Council,” Lord Baras replied. “However, I was relieved she did not order me to take you as an apprentice.”

“Darth Ceres appreciates the order and trials of Korriban. It was Tremel, against her orders, that went against the rites of Korriban,” she replied. “For which he has been brutally punished and _erased_.”

“Indeed, my apprentice, indeed.” Lord Baras waved his hand before her and Praxidice folded her arms behind her back, looking up at him again.

“I can gather you did not take an apprentice to simply have a conversation partner, my lord.” Praxidice bowed her head slightly, falling to one of her knees before looking back up at him. “What sort of duties must I finish to earn your training?”

“Your responsibilities will mandate contact with my various minions. Meet my directives, then you may do as you will to anyone you encounter...adversary or ally.” He softly chuckled as Praxidice’s lips turned up in a smile before she realized her mistake and hid her facial expressions under a mask.

“I will be the cat in the mist, my lord,” she declared. “My pride comes second to finishing the directive.”

“That’s what I like to hear, Praxidice,” Lord Baras chuckled, circling back to behind his desk. “Keep in mind, apprentice, a lightsaber can only achieve so much. The most powerful weapon in a Sith master's arsenal is information. I have painstakingly built a vast network of spies and operatives embedded throughout the Sith, Republic, and Jedi alike. I have fingers, eyes, and ears everywhere.”

Praxidice could imagine Vette’s response. “That’s gross,” she’d say. “Hope you don’t catch anything on top of your gross personality.” She risked a glance back as Lord Baras turned from her. Vette was shivering, but didn’t seem to be having trouble keeping her mouth shut.

“Which am I to be? A finger, eye, or ear?”

“None. You are to be my hand.” Lord Baras motioned for her to rise and she stood, arms folded behind her back as he circled around his desk back to the front. He put his hands on her shoulders. “You're my enforcer -- deployed to protect my interests, intimidate my rivals, and...” He squeezed her shoulders lightly, his voice turning to a soft growl. “... _destroy_ my enemies. It's time for your tenure to begin.”

“Understood, my lord.”

He removed his hands, turning to face away from Praxidice and folding his hands behind his back. “A military starship is touching down at the Kaas City cargo port, delivering a vitally important prisoner to me. You will meet Commander Lanklyn there and make sure he and his men successfully off-load this prisoner.”

“Expecting snakes in the grass, I see.”

“We must always assume someone is plotting against us, even here in the brain of the Empire,” he replied, throwing his left hand in a dramatic display before clenching it into a fist. “Especially when the stakes are high.”

“Understood.”

“The importance of this prisoner cannot be overstated. Go to the cargo port now and stay sharp. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, my lord.”

* * *

 “Vette, stay with me. Should trouble erupt, find a suitable position and blast from above. I will be assisting you with this.”

“Whoa, you’re not gonna throw me with the Force. We haven’t practiced that!”

“I know how to do it...in theory, I should be able to boost you with no damage to you.”

“I still would like-”

Without warning, Praxidice focused her power in the Force and tossed Vette into the air above them. She landed on a hanging starship with a yelp. A few moments later, Praxdice would be greeted by a glaring Vette.

“NOT COOL, BOSS. _NOT_. **COOL**.”

“Are you damaged?”

“WELL...NO.”

“We have then practiced the maneuver. Jump down and I will practice your descent.”

“YOU PUT ME UP HERE, YOU WILL TAKE ME BACK DOWN.”

Praxidice blinked, eyebrows furrowing. “Well...yes, that is precisely what I just-”

“NO. JUMPING.” Vette’s fingers seemed to be digging into the wing she stood on. “COME UP AND GET ME, PLEASE.”

Praxidice sighed. She jumped up, throwing herself with the Force and landing besides Vette. She pulled her off the starship, holding her bridal style as she landed back down and took the impact on her own legs.

An Imperial voice, deep and authoritative, cut through her thoughts. “Excuse me, but what is your designation and purpose here?”

Praxidice looked up and met the eyes of a man. No connection to the Force, the man had a brunette mustache that trailed down the ends of his mouth and slightly along his jawline. Blue eyes, cybernetics planted in his lower cheek and jaw along with a spot above his left eye.

“What is your designation?” She asked back, standing up and placing Vette down. “ _Lie_ and I will show you that is a bad reason and _why_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get all of Dromund Kaas done in one chapter, but sadly my patience with that runs really thin. Especially with all the scenes right now being "Prax Enters a Room, Gets Orders, Leaves". I'll be skipping around for Dromund Kaas Part 2, but I refuse to let Dromund Kaas go on for longer than 2 parts. I refuse.


	9. A Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled "The Merry Adventures of Dromund Kaas"

“I am Commander Lanklyn and you-”

“Hey Captain Oblivious, check the belt,” Vette replied, “she’s Sith.”

Praxidice felt a shiver of delight as she watched his eyes dart down to her belt, his gaze following her hand as she removed a lightsaber and lifted it in the air with the Force, spinning it around her hand. His fear burned bright in his eyes. “Oh. Oh you’re right, I apologize. On whose orders are you here for, my lord?”

“Lord Baras’s,” Praxidice replied. “I am his new apprentice, Praxidice, here to be your welcoming party.”

“Excuse me, my lord, but I hardly think that’s necessary. My men and I-”

There was a soft skittling sound, metal ticking against metal. Praxidice’s head spun to the source, a grenade. “Excuse me, Commander, but I believe you should focus upon my master’s cargo. Vette-”

“Just position me already,” Vette groaned. “We’ve practiced.”

Praxidice hid a smile as she filled her fists with her lightsabers, punching Vette up into the air with the Force and hearing her swing up onto the railings above. With a flick of her wrists, her lightsabers shimmered out of the hilt with a bit of red and blue. No smoke spiralled out of the grenade’s casing, but the ground began to shake.

“V-2 Seismic Grenade, perhaps even a V-3,” Praxidice called up, lifting it with the Force. Electricity fizzled out of it, harmlessly dissipating. “A child’s toy.”

“This is friendly territory,” Commander Lanklyn’s voice skittered to the back of her ears, “who would attack?”

“Lanklyn, there is no friendly territory.” Praxidice closed her eyes, trusting in her mastery over the Force. She stepped to the left with a shot deflected with one of her blades into the floor.

“You're skilled, but skill's not enough.” Praxidice opened her eyes, observing a sniper set upon some crates. She turned to the source of the voice, quickly stripping his appearance to solid details. Lightly Force sensitive, not enough for Jedi or Sith training, a head shorter than her, dressed in what might as well have been the smuggler “uniform”, a goggle tan around his brown eyes. Long, lightly matted brown hair, cut to the chin in the front and pulled up into a short ponytail in the back. Accompanied by a few lightly armored men, perhaps bounty hunters. Not Imperial in outer appearance, at any rate. “My master ordered that block of ice, for his drink. So, step away from the carbonite man and no one ends up in a grave.”

“I’m afraid this is a private party,” Praxidice replied. “You weren’t on the invitations list, I’m dreadfully sorry. Give me your name and the name of your master and I’m certain my master will...correct the mistake.”

“Nice try, but you don’t have a sabacc face, sweetheart. Consider your party crashed. I'm here to relieve you of your burden. Whether that includes your own lives as well, is up to you,” he replied, holding his pistol. Praxidice had no doubts he was aiming for her nose, with how he was holding that.

They stared at each other like that for a few moments, the man and his crew much more tense than Praxidice. None of them seemed to notice Vette maneuvering in the rafters, their sniper silently taken out and Vette aiming a shot at the back of the man’s head before Praxidice noticed she took cover, looking towards her right-

“Lookie, lookie, if it ain't Slestack. Your master be wanting the froze man too, huh? Too bad for you, it mine.” Praxidice turned her head, noting the male Houk and his entourage of shady customers. Did these two work for Sith lords or crime lords?

“I’m actually rather certain that the froze man be mine,” Praxidice replied, “and your name is Slestack? Charming, it sounds like an expletive. Come along, this is a party. Introductions are in order.”

“Fine. I am Slestack and this ignoramus is TuMarr. My master and the slime TuMarr takes orders from don't exactly like each other.” There was a look of disgust tossed to TuMarr, but TuMarr just shrugged it off.

“My slime crush your master with pinky.”

“My lord, what will we do?” Lanklyn asked. “I was wrong, you being here was necessary, please, what-”

“Do not grovel, Lanklyn.” She tsked at him. She sheathed her lightsabers, ignoring Lanklyn’s noise of distress.

She clapped her hands together, loudly to interrupt the argument that Slestack and TuMarr were having about their masters.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement...afterall, this is a party and it would be ever so rude of me not to offer a time for snacks.”

“Snacks?” Their heads whipped to look at her.

“Of course! You were ever so polite and brought the snacks.” With blasters trained on her, she walked about the room. She picked up the knocked out sniper, smiling from ear to ear as she appraised him like a chocolate.

“What-”

“You don’t know how hard it’s been for me, surrounded by bland Imperial drones,” she replied. “No taste, so disappointing to bite into.”

Praxidice put the man over her shoulder, sauntering back to her original position with him as they looked at her in horror.

“You’re going to-”

“Eat him? Why, yes!” She did the best impression of her old friend Zhorrid, giggling and using a hand to cover her mouth coyly. “In fact, as your hostess, I propose a game! First one to spell kill gets to live.”

“Me know to spell kill! K-Y-Y-Y-L!”

“TuMarr, you idiot! That’s not how you spell kill. It’s-”

“Don’t need to know spelling when know the meaning.”

The two parties began to fight. Praxidice watched with her coy smile still hidden behind her hand, sitting with the unconscious man knocked out in her lap. She motioned for Lanklyn to come forth and thankfully he got the message. He kneeled beside her and she whispered, “Get this man and our cargo away from this fight.”

“Yes ma’am, thank you ma’am-”

“And pray tell -- is there a package from Darth Ceres inside your ship?”

“Ah, yes-”

“Good. If you check your orders, you’ll find I’m the recipient.”

“Yes ma’am, I’ll-”

“Leave a man stationed to release that package on my cue. Tell him it all goes to hell when the Sith lady sings.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Tie this criminal up nice and tight, he’s supposedly my meal.”

Lanklyn took the man, quietly giving orders. It gave him something to do while Praxidice watched the fight, finding Vette dodging and weaving about the shots and playing both sides. Praxidice hadn’t seen her fight like this, typically she worked almost as a sniper in all instances she had seen. But this was Chaos made flesh, the sprawling mouth of it reincarnated into Vette’s bored yawn and the sudden strikes of destiny made incarnate in the form of blaster fire and pistol.

Their eyes met and Praxidice found herself entirely too correct in dubbing Vette Chaos made flesh. A fiery flurry of emotions burned in Vette’s gaze: practiced joy and barely restrained boredom. Vette didn’t protest as Praxidice punched her up with the Force into the cover of starships hanging above, going silent as she laid across the top of an Imperial fighter and panting softly.

Praxidice clapped her hands together after Lanklyn and his men were out. All combat froze, all eyes turned to her. It tickled her to make her amused grin more sincere when she could sense the fear licking the walls.

“Gentlemen, neither side has yet to meet my demands. I suppose you’ll need a little help.”

* * *

“You’re a Commander now, aren’t you?”

The woman shifted in her seat at the bar’s booth, looking him in the eye. “Yes. Commander Ortina Pritch is what they call me these days.”

“You were a part Commander Lanklyn’s squad on Dromund Kaas during Lord Praxidice’s rise to power, correct?”

She squared her shoulders proudly, taking a sip of the drink he’d gotten her. Non-alcoholic. Figures. “I played an integral part of her plan during that mission,” Ortina answered.

“Go on.”

“Commander Lanklyn left me to stand by a panel for one of our live cargo packages from Darth Ceres, instructed to release it when...I believe Lord Praxidice’s words exactly were ‘it all goes to hell when the Sith lady sings’.”

She watched him give a soft chuckle, folding his hands together. “Yes, that sounds like her.”

After a pause of silence, letting him take his attention off of her to take a sip of his own drink, Ortina continued, “I waited there, hearing blaster fire and cursing -- the usual you’d hear with a gang fight. But suddenly there was a booming clap and I can hear her giggling. Sith laughter is unsettling-”

“Because it’s not their real laugh.”

“-and it made everyone quiet. She started singing, like a siren from the holo-dramas. It was pretty, but-”

“It’s frightening if you’re not accustomed to it. It’s rather calming if you are. Continue.”

“I figure, the Sith lady’s singing, so...time to release hell.”

“Tartarus, named for ancient Naboo myth of an afterlife for the wicked,” he replied, “so her tusk cat leapt past you?”

She nodded. “To the singing. I heard screaming, yelling, and she just kept singing.”

“What was she singing?”

“It was foreboding...I think it went ‘run, men, run, this world has no place for you’. There was more, but it’s been a year-”

“Two.”

“-two years since this...mission. Those were the words that stuck with me. We don’t all have amazing memory.”

Silence stood between them in their small booth. She looked at him and found the makings of laugh lines.

“Very well. It’s been nice, to talk-”

“Hold up,” she replied, pushing his drink back towards him. “You just got my Lord Praxidice story. You have to give one back. It’s the rules.”

“Since when?”

“You need to socialize more, Lord Praxidice replaced Darth Malgus. If someone tells a Lord Praxidice story, you’ve got to trade.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“I’ll tell everyone you broke the rules and no one will answer your questions about Lord Praxidice-”

“Alright. This one isn’t mine,” he replied, “but what I gathered off of the officer before you, Commander Pritch.”

“We’ll keep trading until we’re out of Dromund Kaas stories, then since I hear that’s what you’re after. Then you tell me your Lord Praxidice story. I know what happened when she was done with Commander Pritchy Pants.”

“Don’t-”

“He’s my husband, I get to give him all the nicknames I want.” That made him shut up. Ortina reached out and gave his left hand a reassuring squeeze. She could feel a wedding ring under his glove. “Let me tell the story. This is the most bonding we’ve ever done.” She smiled. “You’re supposed to be on break anyway, you said. Unless you lied to me, which is very unlike you, you don’t have to hurry anywhere.”

She could almost hear his internal argument with himself. She smiled wider as he sighed. “Very well. I will tell the Commander Pritch story and you will tell-”

“The Grathan story,” she finished. “Heard it when an Intelligence agent decided to join the Lord Praxidice storytelling. After Grathan, everyone knows she goes to-”

“Balmorra. Yes, I suppose that will be my personal story.”

“Given the rumors, everyone wants that story, my dear brother Malavai.”

He sighed, holding his glass in one hand and pinching his nose bridge in the other. “Ortina-”

“I am your twin, let me know so that I don’t have to believe things based off of bloody rumors, Malavai!”

* * *

“Commander Pritch, at your service, my lord. Lord Baras informed me you'd be paying us a visit. I'm prepared to offer full assistance.”

Praxidice had her arms crossed behind her back, Vette at a bit of a distance behind her left shoulder. The right corner of Praxidice’s lips turned up. “Aren’t you a good little soldier?”

“Lord Baras has always thought so, my lord.”

“I can imagine, Commander,” Praxidice replied, picking a leaf out of her tusk-cat’s fur.

There was an awkward silence and Pritch felt his heartbeat accelerate slightly. He cleared his throat. “Permit me to update you on the situation here, my lord.”

“Permission granted, Commander.”

He explained the basis of it -- the slave revolt in the area around where a large statue of a Sith Lord was being built, a conflict Lord Baras was stoking the flames of rebellion in the slaves (“Former slaves,” Praxidice had corrected him with a sharp look hidden under a professional smile) -- and watched her. It was how uncanny how still she was. Previous Sith Lords Pritch had worked with were always moving, like the Force was giving them far too much energy and they had to output it somehow with large dramatic hand gestures and over-emotive facial expressions. But Lord Baras’s apprentice was as still as a statue with eyes as attentive as a targeting array. The only reaction he had gotten out of her was a small, purr-like noise from her direction when he noted the slave leaders were attempting to blackmail Lord Baras for more support.

To this day, he doesn’t know if it had been truly her or the tusk-cat at her side, the massive charcoal beast as still as its master with its head resting upon her shoulder. He wouldn’t be able to tell you what side the beast was on, if you asked. He told me that the faces of the two blend in his head -- black fur and hair framing two silver abyssal eyes.

He watched them go off and made his report to Lord Baras as to what he thought of the Lord’s new apprentice. I can tell you it was a clean, succinct report. I can guess the point of the message was “My lord, she scares me and we should most definitely watch her closely if we intend to use slaves in the future”.

It was only an hour later when Praxidice returned on the back of her casually trotting tusk-cat, Vette clinging behind her. Before Pritch could even say a word, she replied, “The problem is taken care of, Commander Pritch. Please let my master know.”

Then she was off, like a bolt of lightning, back towards the Citadel. Pritch investigated to see if she was being honest. Sure enough, the rebel slave leaders were docile, even to him over the secret communication channels between them and him. Pritch told Baras and Baras was pleased at how Praxidice solved the whole thing diplomatically so that there were still tools in the field.

* * *

Funny, you saying that Praxidice was diplomatic. I heard it different for this next bit of her rise.

The way I heard it from the spook from Imperial Intelligence, Praxidice and Vette roll into the room where she and another one of Lord Baras’s apprentices, Dri’kill Ba’al, are holed up under cover and pretending to work for that Lord Grathan arsehole.

The spook takes Vette off to the side and they have a talk about dealing with Imperial racism and all that nonsense, but the spook could tell that their attentions were both on the two Sith apprentices sizing each other up.

The way the spook said it, it was like two Rancors in a pit. Whole room felt like Hoth’s backside and Tattooine’s frontside got thrown together. Their Force energies, however you wanna put it, were mixing it up and bringing the room down.

Dri’kill Ba’al was an arrogant prick, according to the spook, and liked shoving into the buttons of people. Seemed to the spook that Praxidice liked the same thing, so the both insulted each other while circling each other. Vette joked that it was something Praxidice did all the time, look like an angry tu’kata. The spook said she said that it was something Ba’al did too and the two laughed about Sith and their social habits.

Ba’al gives Praxidice her target, she leaves for a while. The spook does her work, ties up loose ends with Ba’al and pulls out. Her watcher asks her why the rush and she says, “He knocked on Death’s Door and it’s going to knock back.”

The spook has her watcher at the cafe down in Dromund Kaas and they casually check Ba’al’s accounts for gossip. They had a bet if the apprentices ended up getting action together-oh don’t look at me like that, Imperial Intelligence agents have to get their kicks somewhere. Anyways, they go looking and the account was gone. Wiped away, very hush hush Sith Lord tech wipe for the account. Some further digging revealed that Praxidice miraculously left the facility intact and Lord Grathan returned back to the folds of the Sith Council, with his bio records updated significantly -- like he was changed to a completely different person. Rumors and speculation have it that she planted a puppet in control of Lord Grathan’s assets and brought them back to the Empire.

Then the spook gets interested after more-oh stop looking at me like that. There was a soft credit trail between Grathan’s assets and Praxidice. There still might be, but the spook thought that Grathan was paying her off. Might still be, just so whatever ruse is happening keeps up.

* * *

Commander Ortina Pritch neé Quinn watched her twin absorb this all. He seemed to know more than her, entirely making more sense than she could comprehend, what with all the hidden details she didn’t know.

What she did know was that her brother was concerned. Anxious. If she had this level of knowledge on everyone’s body language, she’d be like the Intelligence Agents that she talked to from time to time, a Cipher. But watching Malavai tap his foot, draw microscopic diagrams along his forearm by his elbow, Ortina knew him for who he was -- a nervous wreck of her twin brother barely keeping together by suppressed emotions and code regulations.

“I see,” Malavai softly sprawled between them, his eyes staring into the clear water of his glass like it had answers. “I suppose you’ll want your payment.”

“I’d rather hear what’s all the fuss with my twin from him than rumor factories,” she replied, “c’mon, Vai. I’m kind of worried. You’re the only-”

“You have your husband’s family,” he replied sharply.

She snorted. “I don’t want to lose you like our parents, Malavai. Especially not to a Sith capable of doing everything that Lord Praxidice has.”

He was quiet and she matched him, as she used to do when they were children and sitting in the living room with their parents arguing in the next room over with loud shouting and thunks of the fights happening over there. Everything had changed after their visit to Nar Shaddaa as a family vacation -- her parents had begun to fight and Malavai grew distant. At least through Lord Praxidice, Ortina was trying to close that gap.

“I remember,” Malavai muttered. Ortina looked up, watching him look her in the eye. “I remember, it started as a very trying day...”


End file.
